"The scent of blood is far too thick!"
A Carian general, standing not far from the village, felt his expression shift violently. Beside him stood the local lord of this territory, who was currently wearing a forced, sheepish smile.
Mossman shot the man a cold, predatory look, causing the lord's complexion to pale even further.
The reason was simple: the lord had ordered a total information blackout. He had no idea how word had reached the ears of this Carian general. More importantly, the sheer intensity of the iron-scented air rising from the village genuinely confused him.
After all, he had never issued an order for a massacre. His primary fear was that his own men might contract the disease while slaughtering the villagers and bring it back to his city. That would be ruinous.
So, in an act of "mercy," he had simply left them to rot and die on their own.
He hadn't expected the Carians to find out, let alone this specific general named Mossman. Mossman came from humble beginnings—in the lord's eyes, he was just the son of a common fishing family.
However, because of those roots, Mossman cared deeply for the common people.
But that wasn't the only reason for Mossman's urgency. He was thinking far ahead of the noble lord. If you asked if the lord's actions were right or wrong, he would say wrong. But if you asked if it was an "effective" solution, he would have to nod. It was a way to suppress the spread and minimize impact—but he smelled a conspiracy.
Having consulted with the accompanying physicians, he knew this disease was troublesome but far from incurable. In fact, they already had the formula for the antidote in hand.
The doctor stationed in the village shouldn't have failed to recognize it. While difficult to treat, the illness had appeared several times throughout history. It was only considered "difficult" because the recovery period was long; the necessary herbs were actually quite common.
Yet, in this instance, the doctor had failed to identify it and had even managed to get infected himself.
Furthermore, this incident happened to occur in the territory of this specific, arrogant lord, precisely during the preparations for the Carian wedding, and the news had reached Mossman's desk at the exact moment he was supposed to leave.
There were too many "coincidences." Mossman only believed in agents acting from the shadows.
Though he didn't know who was responsible, he knew the culprit harbored ill will toward Caria. He also suspected that his own intervention was likely a piece on the enemy's chessboard. But even knowing that, he couldn't turn back. To go was to potentially stop it; to do nothing was to surrender the village's fate entirely to the mastermind.
"Faster!"
Mossman roared, digging his heels into his horse's flanks. The warhorse surged forward toward the village.
It didn't take long for Mossman to arrive. The moment he dismounted, his face went ashen.
A village of dead silence. Blood-streaked walls—some stains dark and dried, others looking as fresh as if they had just been painted.
He moved deeper into the village with a grim expression, eventually finding a cleared space in the center. He let out a small sigh of relief when he saw that some villagers were still breathing, however faintly.
But his heart constricted when he saw a man standing among them, holding a blood-stained longsword high in the air.
Without a second thought, Mossman lunged forward, parrying the blade and sent it flying from the man's grip.
The village headman stood frozen for a moment before his eyes turned a manic, bloodshot red.
"Murderer!!!"
The roar sounded like a cornered beast in the depths of despair, making Mossman's skin crawl. The headman then lunged at him with a limp, seemingly determined to tear a piece of flesh from Mossman's body by any means necessary.
Just as Mossman frowned and prepared to subdue him, a villager on the ground let out a weak cry.
Realizing the man's identity, Mossman checked his strike and pinned the man down instead.
"Are you the village head?! Tell me, what happened here?!"
"Dead... Hahahaha! They're all dead!! It's all your fault, you bastards!!! I will take our curse to the underworld and haunt you for all eternity!!!"
"Calm down! I brought medicine! I'm here to save you!" Mossman barked, his brow furrowed.
The word "medicine" made the headman freeze.
"Med... medicine?"
"Yes. Medicine. A potion to cure this sickness!"
"This... isn't this... an incurable plague...?" the headman asked, his lips trembling.
"It was never incurable. Caria has the cure. Your lord made a catastrophic error in judgment, and the moment I found out, I raced here!"
"There's a cure... there was a cure all along... Then what I did... Heh... Hahahaha... sob... WAAAAAH!"
The headman buried his face in the dirt, alternating between manic laughter and gut-wrenching sobs, muttering incoherently.
Mossman looked around. He noticed that almost every dead villager had a clean, decisive wound. There were no signs of struggle. In fact, some of the corpses even bore faint smiles.
He suddenly understood what the man had done.
A wave of pity washed over Mossman. Just as he opened his mouth to offer some comfort, the sound of galloping hooves approached. It was the noble lord who had followed him.
"Tsk... what a disgusting scene. Revolting... Truly a bunch of vermin. I told you, it would have been better to let them die here. This isn't much different! Now this is going to ruin my reputation in the eyes of Her Majesty..."
The lord's face was twisted in a look of blatant revulsion. He pulled out a silk handkerchief to cover his nose and mouth.
Mossman's pupils shrank. A powerful sense of wrongness surged within him. Almost instantly, he lunged toward the lord to cover his mouth.
"Whatever. If they're saved, they're saved. It makes no difference to me. What's the difference between being dead or alive for trash like this? Just make sure you crawl over and thank me for my 'mercy,' you filth."
"Filth... 'no difference'... Hahaha... HAHAHAHAHA!"
Damn it! Mossman, unable to stop the lord's tongue in time, skidded to a halt and spun around to face the village headman.
The man had slowly stood up. Saliva dripped from his mouth, and his eyes were filled with absolute madness.
"Chaos... you bastards should burn in the fires of chaos! You will feel every ounce of our agony!!!"
BOOM— In an instant, a searing yellow flame erupted. Crimson serpents of fire danced within the yellow blaze. A profound sense of irritation and the primal pressure of facing a top-tier predator rose in the hearts of everyone present.
A name surfaced in Mossman's mind: The Frenzied Flame. The noble lord snapped out of his arrogance, his face turning a deathly shade of pale. Those words he had just spoken... he hadn't meant to say them! He was arrogant, but he wasn't stupid!
"Lord Mossman!"
"I know what you want to say, but it's too late. We must contain this situation. Only then do you have any hope of keeping your title!"
The lord's face shifted through several emotions, but he quickly realized Mossman was right. He waved his hand, signaling his men to help Mossman handle the crisis.
As the headman embraced the Flame of Chaos, the villagers behind him also stood up in grotesque, twisted postures. Their eyes glowed with the same fire, though it was slightly dimmer.
These were beings born of the Frenzied Flame faith... the Ailing Villagers. Normally, these unfortunates became "ailing" due to the torment of the flame. Here, the order was reversed, but the result was identical. They had become mindless vessels for the spread of the Frenzied Flame. Their gaunt bodies and weak wills could not contain the burning, yet that did not make them any less dangerous.
The Chaos Flame that could melt all away was no joke. An Ailing Villager, if given the chance, could kill a fully armored knight.
"Get back! Use crossbows! Don't let them touch you!!!" Mossman shouted, dragging the noble lord back as he issued the command.
The soldiers scrambled to create distance. No one wanted to come into contact with those infected by the Frenzied Flame.
Meanwhile, the headman—the original vessel—gave the crowd one last, meaningful look before slowly vanishing into the throng of the afflicted.
"Hmph... The Erdtree, the Blood Dynasty... all of them are fools who do not know the true truth of this world... Especially that Blood Dynasty, daring to hinder my search for a Lord..."
Shabriri narrowed his eyes, controlling the frail, weakened body as he began to limp toward Limgrave.
Liurnia had become the Erdtree's territory. He had no desire to deal with those fanatical heretics right now; he had been killed by the Church of the Erdtree more times than he could count. Now that he finally had a chance to distance himself from them, he wouldn't waste it.
Once he reached Caelid, he would be free.
"Just you wait... I will settle this score with you sooner or later..."
*** "What did you say?! There are traces of Frenzied Flame activity in the Lake District?!"
Radagon stood up abruptly, his face grim. His half-fastened ceremonial wedding robe slid off his shoulder.
"Yes, Lord Radagon. The Carians reported the situation. Here is the full account of the incident. Please, take a look."
The scout handed a letter to Radagon. As Radagon read, his expression darkened with every line.
"What an absolute fool!"
Furious, Radagon threw the letter aside, where it was instantly disintegrated by golden, holy power. He took a deep breath and paced the room before looking at his subordinate.
"Commend the Carian general who reacted in time and prevented the further spread of the flame. And then... have the Church send people to bring that idiotic noble to judgment!"
"This... Lord Radagon, this is a Carian matter. If we interfere now, wouldn't it be..."
Radagon understood the scout was looking out for him. He hadn't officially married Rennala yet; overstepping into Carian internal affairs might be poorly received.
"...I will speak with Rennala. She will support me on this."
"Understood. I shall see to it at once." The scout bowed and hurried out.
Two attendants stepped forward to fix Radagon's robes. Tonight was the grand banquet for the high-ranking members of both the Carian and Golden Dynasties. It was originally intended to be a family dinner, but Radagon had stated he had no living kin, so it was expanded into a formal banquet for the leadership.
It was meant to build rapport and bridge the gap between the two sides. They were to be allies now; old hatreds were to be set aside or, at the very least, managed properly after the wedding.
He could not afford to be absent from such a significant event, especially since the wedding itself was only days away. Tomorrow, they would be moving the festivities to the vicinity of the Church of Vows.
While Radagon was receiving the news, Rennala had long since been briefed. The Lake District was, after all, her domain.
"Truly, these are troubled times..."
"Do you need me to send people to hunt down that missing village headman?" Rellana asked.
"No need. Let Radagon and his people worry about it. They'll likely be quite eager to handle the task themselves," Rennala said with a small smile. "By the way, are you really not coming to the banquet tonight?"
"I'm not. I have an appointment."
"Oh?" Rennala looked at her sister in surprise. "What's this?"
"No... it's just unexpected to see you being so proactive about something."
"Sister!" Rellana protested, her cheeks flushing slightly.
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