Lysander moved deeper into the Stratified Domain, stepping cautiously over the silver roots. The trees here grew closer together, their branches weaving into a natural ceiling that blocked out most of the violet sky.
Eventually, the forest opened up into a small clearing.
"Is this it?" Lysander whispered, his metallic voice barely audible. "This is a Kingdom?"
It wasn't a kingdom. It was a ruin.
The "houses" were little more than hollowed-out stumps and shelters made from woven gray branches and tattered leather hides. There were no stone walls, no fortifications, and no flags flying high. It looked like a refugee camp that had been forgotten by time.
The air here smelled stale—a mixture of wet fur, sickness, and old smoke.
Lysander crouched behind a large fern, adjusting the zoom on his Iron-Wraith Mask.
In the center of the muddy clearing, he saw movement.
A female Demi-Human—a Cat-Kin with dull, matted orange fur—was struggling to carry a wooden bucket of water. She looked young, but her movements were stiff and painful, like an old woman's. Her clothes were rags, barely protecting her from the cold forest air.
As she walked, she stumbled, spilling half the water. She didn't cry out. She just stared at the mud with hollow, exhausted eyes, too weak to even be angry.
"She looks terrible," Lysander noted, watching her trembling hands. "Is she starving?"
Ding!
[SYSTEM SCAN INITIATED]
[TARGET ANALYSIS]
[Race:Feline]
[Status: Critical Condition]
[Affliction Detected:The Wither-Blood Plague]
[Be careful, Master. It is not just starvation]
[Scanning the settlement... Result: 85% Infection Rate]
"This entire village is dying. The 'Wither-Blood' is a parasitic mana disease found in the Stratified Domain. It slowly drains the life force and strength of the host until their muscles atrophy and their hearts stop."
Lysander watched the woman fall to her knees, coughing violently.
"They are too weak to hunt properly. They are too weak to defend themselves. This is not a warrior clan anymore, Master. It is a graveyard waiting to happen"
Lysander felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold air. The history lesson was one thing, but seeing the slow, painful reality of it was something else entirely.
"They aren't just broken," Lysander said grimly. "They are rotting alive."
Lysander stepped out from behind the tree line, his boots sinking into the wet mud. He looked around the desolate settlement.
There were no guards. There were no men.
The village was populated entirely by women and female children. The men were likely dead, killed in the wars or lost to the dangerous forest, leaving the vulnerable behind to slowly wither away.
Splash.
The sound of water hitting the ground snapped Lysander's attention back to the center of the clearing.
The Cat-Kin woman he had been watching finally collapsed. Her legs gave out, and she hit the mud with a wet thud, the wooden bucket rolling away. She didn't move. Her chest barely rose, her breathing ragged and shallow.
"Mom!"
A high-pitched, terrified scream pierced the silence.
From one of the tattered tents, a small figure darted out. It was a little girl, maybe six years old. She wasn't a Cat-Kin like the woman; she was a Fox-Kin. She had large, triangular ears and a bushy tail that dragged in the dirt, but her white fur was dull and graying.
She was suffering from the Plague too.
"Mom! Get up!" the little Fox-girl cried, dropping to her knees beside the fallen woman. She tugged at the woman's ragged clothes with her tiny, trembling hands.
"Please, Mom! You have to get up! The ground is cold!"
The woman groaned, her eyes rolling back, unable to speak.
Lysander instinctively took a step forward, his hand reaching out. "Wait..."
The movement caught the child's eye.
The little Fox-girl froze. She looked up and saw him.
To her, he wasn't a man. He was a nightmare.
Standing tall in the mist was a figure wrapped in a hoodie made of living shadows Void-Weave, with a face made of cold, emotionless iron (Iron-Wraith Mask). His eyes were hidden behind black glass that glowed with a faint, purple mana light.
She didn't see an adventurer. She saw the Grim Reaper.
The color drained from the girl's face. She was trembling so hard her teeth chattered, but she didn't run away. Instead, she scrambled in front of her unconscious mother, spreading her tiny arms wide to protect her.
"D-Don't..." the child stammered, tears streaming down her furry cheeks.
She looked at Lysander's guns. She looked at his mask.
"Are you... are you here to take us?" she sobbed, her voice breaking. "Grandma said the Shadow Man comes when we are too sick."
She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking violently.
"Please... don't take Mommy. She's just sleeping!"
The girl coughed, a harsh, wet sound that racked her small body, but she stood her ground against the terrifying giant.
"Take me instead!" she screamed, her voice tiny against the vast, silent forest. "I'm sick too! Take me! Just leave Mommy alone!"
Lysander stopped dead in his tracks.
His heart hammered against his ribs. He felt a wave of nausea that had nothing to do with the smell of the village.
He looked at his hands—gloved, armored, lethal.
He looked at his reflection in the spilled water—a faceless monster.
"I look like a demon to her," Lysander realized, a heavy weight settling in his chest. "This child seems to believe I am here to take her mother's life away"
He lowered his hand slowly, afraid that any sudden movement would give the poor child a heart attack.
"System," Lysander whispered inside his helmet, his voice thick with emotion. "Tell me there is a cure. Tell me I didn't just walk into a graveyard"
Whirrr...
Lysander stood motionless in the mud, the cold wind whipping the ragged edges of his shadow hoodie. The little Fox-girl's cry
—"Take me instead!"—echoed inside his helmet, cutting deeper than any blade he had faced in the dungeon.
He looked at the trembling child. Her ribs were showing through her ragged tunic. Her tail was limp and dull. She was offering her own tiny, dying life to save her mother.
"System," Lysander commanded, his voice tight with urgency. "You said this is a disease. A mana parasite. There has to be a counter"
Whirrr...
[SEARCHING DATABASE...]
[The 'Wither-Blood Plague' is fatal to those with weak constitutions. Standard potions will not work; their bodies are too frail to handle the chemical stress]
"However..."
Ding!
[ITEM FOUND]
[Item: Sun-Kissed Nectarine]
[Type: Divine Fruit]
[Description: A legendary fruit that grows only on the highest peaks of the Dragon's Spine, bathed in eternal sunlight. It is the core ingredient for 'Elixirs of Immortality' and high-grade panaceas. A single bite can purge the body of all toxins, parasites, and curses. It is extremely rare; kings would trade castles just for the seed of this fruit]
[Price: 500 SP]
"Five hundred points," Lysander repeated.
That was the price of a good sword. It was expensive for a single piece of fruit.
He looked at the girl. She had stopped screaming and was now just staring at him with wide, tear-filled eyes, waiting for the killing blow.
"I have 11,000 points," Lysander whispered.
"And I'm not going to let a kid die in the mud over a handful of change"
"Buy it"
ZAP.
The air in the gloomy clearing suddenly changed. A soft, warm golden light began to emanate from Lysander's right hand.
The little Fox-girl flinched, squeezing her eyes shut. "No! Don't burn us!"
But there was no fire. There was only a sweet, honey-like aroma that overpowered the smell of sickness and rot.
"I will not harm you," Lysander said. "On the contrary, I came here to save you"
He held out his hand.
Resting in his black-gloved palm was a fruit the size of a fist. It wasn't like the Velkora fruit. This one glowed like a miniature sun, pulsating with a gentle, rhythmic warmth.
His voice was still distorted by the Iron-Wraith Mask—deep, metallic, and robotic—but the tone was soft, devoid of malice.
The girl opened one eye. She saw the light. She smelled the sweetness. Her hunger, which had been a constant pain in her belly for months, suddenly roared to life.
"W-What is that?" she whispered, her fear momentarily forgotten.
"It is a cure," Lysander explained simply. "It is the only thing that can save your mother from this sickness"
The girl hesitated. She looked at the terrifying metal mask, then at her dying mother. Desperation outweighed fear. She scrambled forward, her tiny claws digging into the mud, and snatched the glowing fruit from his hand.
She didn't eat it herself, even though she was starving. She immediately turned to her mother.
"Mom! Mom, look!" The girl crushed the fruit in her small hands. It was soft and juicy. She pressed the glowing pulp against her mother's pale lips. "Eat it! Please, the Shadow Man gave it to us!"