Global Survival: I Have Endless Skeletons-Chapter 69: Threats Made to the Wrong Man

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Thoren walked forward with slow, measured steps, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips.

His pace was unhurried, almost leisurely, as though he were strolling through a peaceful street rather than approaching a town simmering with hidden hostility.

Beside him walked a tall, slender figure clad from head to toe in a long human robe. The hood was pulled low, concealing its face entirely.

From a distance, it looked no different from an ordinary awakener.

Only Thoren knew the truth.

On a whim, he had decided to try something new.

Instead of commanding a visible army of undead servants, he wondered if it would be more effective to walk openly with only a single protector.

A strong one.

One that did not draw attention.

And thus, the skeleton in a hoodie was born.

Apart from Thoren himself, no one would ever suspect what lurked beneath the hood.

From a distance, the faint outline of the town slowly emerged against the darkened horizon.

Torches had already been lit along the walls and streets, casting flickering orange light into the surrounding gloom.

The only human settlement within the Abyss buzzed with restless life, yet beneath that surface lay a subtle, rising current of tension.

Unaware of the unease spreading through the streets, Thoren’s thoughts drifted elsewhere entirely.

’What should I eat tonight?’ he wondered idly. ’Something hot. And a long, cold bath afterward.’

"I really hope that money-gobbler doesn’t raise the rent again," he muttered to himself, a faint smirk appearing as Ophelia’s money-loving smile flashed through his mind.

As he drew closer to the gates, he sensed something was off.

Eyes followed him.

Whispers stirred.

The air felt taut, like a bowstring pulled too tight.

Still, he didn’t care.

Since he had the audacity to return openly, he naturally possessed the strength to back it up.

Besides.

His return meant blood.

Those who had plotted against him would have to answer for their actions.

He had not come back expecting peace.

He had come back expecting war.

Less than fifty meters from the town gate, the temperature dropped noticeably.

Thud.

Thud.

The only sounds echoing through the tense silence were the steady rhythm of Thoren’s boots against the stone road and the synchronized footsteps of the hooded skeleton beside him.

His silver hair swayed gently, despite the absence of any strong wind.

The guards stationed at the gate stiffened when they saw him. Shock flickered across their faces for only a brief moment before disciplined neutrality returned.

None of them dared to speak.

Inside the gate, Seris hid in a corner as she patiently waited for Thoren.

Her expression was grim, her fingers clenched tightly as she bit her lip again and again. Each passing second gnawed at her nerves.

’Please... don’t come back today,’ she prayed silently.

She had hoped that the silver-haired boy would not walk through the gate.

Then she saw him.

"Oh no..." she whispered.

Without hesitation, she broke into a run.

Thoren, meanwhile, had already sensed the countless gazes converging on him the moment he crossed the threshold into the town.

From the corner of his vision, he noticed a girl rushing toward him.

He halted mid-step and turned his gaze toward her.

For a moment, he simply stared.

Recognition dawned.

She was the girl he had saved from the Level 8 Scorpion.

’Why is she running toward me like that?’ A flicker of confusion passed through his eyes, but he remained silent.

"Thoren!" Seris stopped in front of him, breathless. "You need to leave immediately."

"What?" He frowned slightly. "Why?"

"The town isn’t safe anymore," she said urgently. "You need to leave now before it’s too late."

She reached out and grabbed his hand, trying to pull him backward.

He didn’t move an inch.

Her grip tightened, panic flashing across her face when she realized she couldn’t budge him at all.

"Tell me what’s going on," Thoren said flatly.

His tone brooked no argument.

Before Seris could respond, hurried footsteps approached from ahead..

A group of three emerged, their crimson-trimmed robes immediately catching Thoren’s attention.

The Crimson Arc Guild.

’What now?’ he wondered.

"We meet again," Orven said, forcing a bright smile as he came to a stop.

"You’re right," Thoren replied calmly, recognizing him immediately. Orven had been the first awakener to invite him into the Crimson Arc Guild.

"Tell me what’s happening," Thoren demanded.

There was no warmth in his voice.

He knew they hadn’t come to exchange pleasantries.

Something was unfolding in the town, and it revolved around him.

Orven’s expression darkened. "The Ghost Scream Bounty Party has set a trap for you."

Thoren’s eyes narrowed slightly.

"They captured the women who run the inn you usually stay at," Orven continued. "They’re demanding you turn yourself in. If you don’t... they’ll kill them."

"What?"

For the first time since his return, Thoren’s expression cracked.

His eyes widened in disbelief.

This was absurd.

Even in the Abyss, the Federation pretended to uphold certain laws. One of those laws strictly forbade the execution of awakeners without trial.

How could they allow something like this?

Then he remembered.

Corruption.

The Federation was rotten to its core.

Understanding dawned, and his shock faded quickly.

His expression smoothed out.

A faint, dangerous smirk curled at the corner of his lips.

"Thoren," Orven said hurriedly, "the guildmaster advises you not to go. He promises to intervene and stop the Ghost Scream Bounty Party from killing the women."

Silence followed.

The street fell unnaturally quiet.

A cold breeze drifted through the town, brushing against cloaks and hair alike.

Yet the atmosphere felt suffocating.

The gentle wind seemed sharp, like an invisible blade hanging in the air.

The moment Thoren stepped into town, news of his arrival had spread like wildfire.

Hidden spies held their breath.

Bounty hunters waited.

Everyone wondered.

Would he flee?

Would he abandon the women?

Or would he play the hero and walk willingly into a trap?

Thoren glanced at Orven and his companions, then shifted his gaze to Seris. Worry was etched clearly on their faces.

He chuckled softly.

"Since they’ve offered themselves to me on a platter of gold," he said quietly, his voice laced with menace, "how could I possibly refuse their generosity?"

With that, he turned and walked deeper into the town.

Seris’s heart sank.

Orven stared after him, stunned.

Thoren had returned to deal with the Silver Crest Guild and the Slave Trade Guild.

But now.

Some fools had dared to threaten him.

And there was one thing Thoren despised above all else.

Threats.

Soon, the entire town would learn what happened to those who thought they could threaten a necromancer and live to tell the tale.