"Drink! Drink! Keep drinking!"
"You lost!!"
"Come on, let's get some grilled meat!"
"Haha…"
After an intense battle, it wasn't just Emosen and his companion who ended up at the tavern—many others had similar thoughts.
Whether it was the relief of surviving another day or the joy of yet another victory, it was cause enough for celebration.
Over time, these post-battle revelries had become a tradition in this place.
Even though the authorities knew such gatherings might cause problems, they ultimately allowed them to continue as a way to stabilize the morale of the soldiers. What began as a spontaneous custom gradually turned into an unspoken rule.
But unlike the cheers in the taverns and the festive atmosphere in the streets, the mage in charge of post-battle health inspections was staring grimly at his report.
He had ordered routine examinations on the tens of thousands of returning warriors.
To his shock, over a hundred of them were found carrying strange viruses—among them, even a highly revered demigod.
Though all infected individuals had now been quarantined, a deep sense of unease remained in his heart.
Due to the harsh environments they inhabit, abyssal creatures often carry a vast array of pathogens. It's not uncommon for infections to occur from even the slightest contact.
In earlier years, outbreaks of abyssal plagues had caused devastating losses among civilian populations.
But that was against ordinary people.
The warriors within the frontlines were far from ordinary. With their formidable physical constitution and constant magical protection, such infections shouldn't have posed a threat to them.
And yet, here it was—completely outside his expectations.
After some thought, he concluded that this might be a probing attack by the abyssal creatures—a calculated test of their defenses. Not daring to take it lightly, he quickly compiled the data and submitted a full report to the frontline commander, Henry Muir.
What he didn't know was that what he considered a "probe" was far more dangerous and malicious than he imagined. A vast number of viruses had cleverly evaded detection rituals and were already spreading inside the defenses.
Amid the celebrations, the plagues were beginning to circulate rapidly.
Four hundred and seventy-seven.
That was the number of plague strains that had already infiltrated the front line. The number of infected had quietly climbed into the tens of thousands.
And with cheering crowds roaming the streets in high spirits, the spread was only accelerating.
---
"Time to wait again..."
Pulling his attention away from the spreading plagues, Orsaga rested a hand on the stone armrest beside him and gazed up at the sky. His eyes strained to pierce through the interference of the barrier above, trying to glimpse the battlefield where Ignarok and the others were locked in combat with this world's gods—but he saw nothing.
The power of that barrier was far beyond him, filled with the will of this world itself.
It was a level of strength he could not yet comprehend.
"Compared to [Demon Lords], those capable of standing at the apex of the multiverse's food chain... I'm still far too weak."
He chuckled softly to himself at the thought.
There was no frustration—only a deep sense of amusement.
He couldn't help but feel curious about the view awaiting him, should he one day stand at the very top of the multiverse.
---
Several days later.
As a sun elf, Alison held a position of great prestige within her people. Even within the frontlines, she enjoyed the highest level of accommodations—better even than those of Commander Henry Muir.
She rose from her bed, methodically dressed herself, and twitched her long, slender ears at the sound of chaos outside.
A quiet sigh escaped her lips.
Two days earlier, large numbers of civilians—and even lower-tier professionals—had suddenly come down with a strange illness, with no warning. The sickness spread rapidly.
Even though Commander Henry had immediately issued a series of urgent orders to contain the situation, the effort proved futile.
In mere days, the once-thriving stronghold had descended into widespread misery.
Current intelligence suggested the illness wasn't a single disease, but a tangled mess of many. The plagues were so complex and interwoven that even the finest healers and clerics couldn't explain them, let alone treat them effectively. They could only do their best.
Opening the ornately-carved wooden window in her chamber, Alison looked down upon the street where commoners lay sprawled, groaning weakly in the dirt. Her brow furrowed. She wanted to help, but there was nothing she could do.
Her knowledge of healing was limited to relatively simple techniques, and this illness was far beyond her capabilities.
It was like an intern doctor facing a patient with terminal cancer—utterly powerless, left with nothing but helpless observation.
"Doo-doo-doo…"
At that moment, the magic communicator hanging from her waist buzzed to life.
She didn't hesitate. With a flick of her hand, she activated it.
A young man's voice—deep, but clearly not old—spoke through the device: "The preliminary investigation into the plagues is complete."
Still gazing down at the suffering people, Alison said softly, "Go ahead."
The voice continued, "The diseases likely infiltrated with the warriors during the last demonic tide. Judging by how they slipped past our detection rituals, their ability to hide is far beyond that of any known plague. And the number of strains is overwhelming—so far, we've identified over five hundred distinct types."
"Moreover, they seem to mutate rapidly. When different plagues come into contact, they spawn entirely new variants at high speed. The number keeps climbing—and we still don't know the upper limit."
Hearing this—the sheer number of strains and their alarming rate of mutation—Alison felt a chill in her heart. Things were far worse than she had imagined.
She asked quickly, "Did they come up with any temporary treatment plan?"
She no longer hoped for a full cure—just a stopgap to slow things down.
But the answer she received was a heavy blow: "...No. According to the healers, this thing has surpassed the realm of plague or disease. It behaves more like a self-evolving lifeform. They're completely at a loss."
"At this point, unless we use extraordinarily rare healing potions or top-tier spells, there's virtually no chance of recovery. And since those methods can't be applied on a large scale, for ordinary civilians and low-tier professionals… the mortality rate is practically one hundred percent."
Hearing that, Alison slowly closed her eyes, unable to bear the sight of the suffering outside.
"...I see."
She had seen many cities destroyed by monsters and knew well the tragedies suffered by various races.
With her noble status among the elves, she could have stayed safely in the rear lines. But she had chosen to fight, hoping to prevent such tragedies from happening again.
And now, another tragedy was unfolding right before her eyes—and she was powerless to stop it.
As if that weren't bad enough, the voice on the other end hesitated for a moment before speaking again.
"There's something else… and it's bad. These plagues aren't only affecting living beings."
Alison's grief-stricken expression froze slightly. "What do you mean?"
"Based on our observations, even inanimate objects like hospital beds and blankets are being affected by the plagues. Some of them have transformed into monsters… One bed sprouted over a dozen legs and started crawling madly across the walls like a giant spider. Trust me—you don't want to see that."
At those words, Alison felt a cold shiver run down her spine.
An unspeakable dread crept over her.
___
🎉 Big Shoutout to Fabian! 🎉
A heartfelt thank you to Fabian for joining my Patreon and supporting this translation journey! 🙏✨
Your generosity truly makes a difference and helps bring chapters out faster for everyone. 🚀
Welcome to the VIP family, Fabian—you're awesome! 💎🙌