Global Survival: I Have Endless Skeletons-Chapter 80: A Stroll Where Hearts Drew Closer

"I thought you only had powerful undead servants. I never knew you yourself were this strong."

Fidelia’s voice carried a mixture of disbelief and faint irritation as they stepped out of the Rusty Barrel.

The wooden doors creaked behind them, sealing away the boisterous noise of drunken awakeners and clanking mugs.

"Oh?" Thoren replied with a light, almost teasing smile. "And how exactly did you come to that conclusion?"

They walked side by side through the stone-paved street, the lanterns above casting long shadows that stretched and twisted across the ground.

Even at this hour, the town remained lively, yet a strange tension followed in Thoren’s wake.

Conversations dulled wherever he passed, and footsteps unconsciously slowed.

"Do you honestly think a weak awakener could drink Ghost Scream in one go and live to tell the tale?" Fidelia shot him a sideways glance and rolled her eyes.

"Right now, any normal person would be lying in the clinic, foaming at the mouth, undergoing emergency treatment."

A flicker of realization crossed Thoren’s face. He hummed softly, then turned his head to look at her more closely, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"What?" Fidelia asked, instantly wary under his gaze. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"So," Thoren said slowly, his smile sharpening, "you wanted me to make a fool of myself, didn’t you?"

Her steps faltered for half a second.

"That’s why you didn’t warn me about Ghost Scream," he continued. "You were waiting for me to scream my lungs out."

Having been caught red-handed, Fidelia quickly averted her gaze.

A faint flush crept up her cheeks as she crossed her arms. "It was just a harmless prank," she muttered.

"Who would’ve thought you were such a monster?"

"Harmless?" Thoren chuckled. "Prank or not, you must pay for my burnt throat."

She clicked her tongue in annoyance.

"Fine. What do you want?" she said with exaggerated resignation. "You’re such a baby."

It wasn’t as though she had any real choice. With his strength, she knew she was entirely at his mercy.

Yet strangely, she didn’t feel afraid.

More importantly, she could tell he was only pretending to be offended.

And that was what unsettled her the most.

The man everyone called the Grim Reaper was joking with her, bargaining like an ordinary person.

That simple fact shattered the terrifying image painted by rumors.

He was relaxed.

Easygoing.

Almost... normal.

She had many questions.

Questions about the Federation. About why someone like him had been pushed to the brink.

But she knew her place.

When Thoren felt it was time, he would tell her himself.

For now, she wanted nothing more than to enjoy this rare moment of peace with him.

Moments like this were scarce in the abyss.

Most days, she spent her time buried in the kitchen, cooking, honing her blade technique, rarely allowing herself the luxury of leisure.

"When we return," Thoren suddenly said, pulling her from her thoughts, "you must cook me a table full of your best dishes."

"What?" Fidelia stopped in her tracks and stared at him. "A table full of my best dishes? You must be dreaming."

She scoffed and deliberately quickened her pace.

"Hahaha!" Thoren laughed as he closed the distance between them. "You have no choice. This is the only cure for my poor, abused throat."

"Fine," she sighed dramatically. "But you’re buying all the ingredients."

"Don’t pretend you’re not enjoying this," Thoren said, rolling his eyes. "I know you love cooking."

Her cheeks flushed again, but she refused to respond.

Instead, she increased her pace even further, leaving him chuckling behind her.

They continued their banter as they moved from one shop to another.

Everywhere they went, the reaction was the same. Shop owners froze the moment Thoren stepped inside, their smiles stiff and forced, hands trembling as they greeted him.

Inside a blacksmith shop, the heat from the forge filled the air. Sparks danced as molten metal was hammered into shape.

The blacksmith, a young man in his early twenties, looked up and immediately stiffened when he recognized Thoren.

"You... you want ten shields, ten spears, ten swords, ten hammers, and ten sets of armor?" he asked, his voice trembling.

"Yes," Thoren replied calmly. "Is there a problem?"

Standing beside him, Fidelia was equally stunned.

Her eyes darted between Thoren and the blacksmith. Why would anyone need so many weapons at once?

"N-no," the blacksmith said quickly, shaking his head. "No problem at all."

"Good," Thoren nodded. "Can you make them High Iron Grade?"

The words struck like a thunderbolt.

"H-High Grade?" the blacksmith exclaimed, nearly dropping his hammer.

Fidelia’s jaw fell open.

Seeing their expressions, Thoren immediately realized the impracticality of his request.

Equipping his undead legion with High Iron Grade equipment would be ideal but reality was far less accommodating.

"Sir Thoren," the blacksmith said respectfully, regaining his composure, "forging High Grade equipment relies heavily on luck. Even master blacksmiths can only succeed once in a great while."

Thoren nodded in understanding. "Then Middle Iron Grade will suffice."

"Yes!" the blacksmith replied instantly, confidence flooding his voice. "That, I can guarantee."

He was a Level 10 blacksmith, after all.

"When can I expect the delivery?" Thoren asked.

"By the end of today," the blacksmith said firmly.

Though it would push him to his limits, he wasn’t worried.

In fact, with such a massive order, he might even break through to the next level.

"And the cost?"

"Middle Grade equipment is usually fifty copper coins each," the blacksmith said, smiling brightly. "But for a bulk order like this, thirty coins each will do."

Without hesitation, Thoren paid and left the shop.

As they walked away, Fidelia couldn’t hold back her curiosity any longer.

"Why do you need so many weapons?"

"For my undead legion."

"Oh." Realization dawned on her face.

She had always assumed he treated his undead servants as disposable tools.

But now, her perception has shifted. Even without equipment, his undead were already terrifying.

With proper gear?

Their strength would rise to an entirely new level.

Just how powerful would Thoren become after this upgrade?

She shuddered slightly but chose not to dwell on it.

They continued exploring the town, visiting most of its establishments.

At one point, Fidelia even dragged him toward a brothel, much to his shock.

He never imagined such a place would exist in the abyss but upon reflection, it made sense. People needed an outlet.

Stress, fear, and despair demanded release, especially when no one knew if tomorrow would be their last.

Finally, they returned to the inn.

Standing before its entrance, Thoren turned to Fidelia.

"Thank you for today," he said sincerely. "I really had a good time."

A bright smile spread across her face. "It’s nothing. I enjoyed it too."

They stared at each other for a brief moment before stepping inside.

The distance between them had quietly shrunk.

Neither said it aloud, but both understood.

Something had changed.