He looked around the room again. City Lord Han was staring out the window, brooding over his dying city. The guards were watching Louis with the same mix of fear and disgust. No one else was reacting to the glowing blue billboard floating in the middle of the room.
I'm hallucinating, Louis thought, swallowing the last dry crumbs of the bun. The hunger broke my brain. Or maybe demons just see things.
But the text was so specific. Incubation Stage.
He shook his head, trying to clear the image, but the tag remained stuck to the guard like a sticky note. It was annoying.
Louis sighed, feeling the heaviness of the situation settle back onto him. He had a letter to deliver. He had a mountain to climb. He had a body that everyone wanted to kill. And apparently, he was now trapped in a room with a walking biological time bomb.
He stood up, his hoofed feet clacking against the stone floor. He grabbed the letter with the red seal.
"Hey," Louis said. His voice was casual, flat, like he was pointing out a stain on a rug.
The guards stiffened, spears snapping up.
Louis didn't look at them. He looked at Lord Han's back. "I'll take the letter. But you might want to get a new guard."
Han turned slowly, his brow furrowed. "What are you babbling about, demon?"
Louis pointed a dark, clawed finger at the guard on the left.
"That one," Louis said, sounding bored. "He's infected."
The silence that followed was absolute.
It lasted for a single, suffocating second. Then, the atmosphere in the room shattered.
The guard on the right violently shoved himself away from his partner, crashing into a bookshelf. "Get back!" he screamed, his voice cracking.
The accused guard—the one with the blue box—stumbled backward, his eyes wide with terror behind his scarf.
"What? No! My Lord, he lies! It's a demon's trick! I feel fine!"
"I'm not lying," Louis said, scratching his horn. He felt strangely detached, perhaps because he had nothing left to lose.
"I am not sick!" The guard yelled, tearing the scarf from his face to reveal a flushed, sweaty, but unblemished face. "Look! No black veins! No sores! I checked this morning!"
City Lord Han didn't move. He stood behind his desk, his eyes darting between Louis and the guard. The fear in the Lord's eyes was palpable. In this world, an accusation of sickness was a death sentence.
"He's trying to sow discord!" the infected guard shouted, pointing his spear at Louis. The tip shook violently. "Let me kill him, My Lord! Let me skew him right now!"
"Hold," Han commanded. His voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of authority.
Han looked at Louis. "How do you know? You can smell it?"
Louis hesitated. He couldn't say 'I see a video game menu floating over his head.'
"Sure," Louis lied. "Smell. Demon senses. He smells like... rotting meat. From the inside."
The guard on the right, the partner, was now pressing himself against the far wall, holding his breath.
"My Lord," the accused guard pleaded, tears welling in his eyes. "I have a wife. I have a daughter. I haven't left the barracks in three days. I haven't touched anyone!"
Han looked at the guard. He looked at the desperation. Then he looked at the spear in the guard's hand—a weapon that could easily be turned on the City Lord.
"Stand down," Han ordered, his voice cutting through the panic like a blade.
The City Lord didn't lower his guard, but he didn't fire the crossbow either. He looked at the trembling guard, then at the heavy oak door leading to the barracks.
"Go to your quarters," Han said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Lock the door. Do not open it for your wife. Do not open it for your daughter. If you are clean, we will know in a week. If you are not... you will spare them the pain of watching you rot."
The guard's shoulders slumped. The fight drained out of him instantly, replaced by a hollow, crushing resignation. He looked at his partner, then at the floor. He didn't say a word. He just nodded, a jerky, broken motion.
"Leave your armor," Han added.
The guard froze.
"And the spear," Han continued, gesturing toward Louis. "Give them to the demon."
Louis's jaw dropped. He looked from the City Lord to the infected guard, then down at his own scarred hands.
Wait. What?
The guard didn't argue. He moved like a sleepwalker. Clumsy fingers undid the leather straps of his chest piece. He let the heavy, padded armor fall to the floor with a wet thud. He unbuckled his bracers. Finally, he placed the iron-tipped spear on top of the pile.
Wearing nothing but his sweat-stained under-tunics, the man turned and walked out. He didn't look back. The heavy doors groaned shut behind him, sealing the room in silence.
Louis stared at the pile of equipment. It was still warm.
"Put it on," Han commanded, returning to his desk to organize his scrolls.