"You understand how hallucinogen addiction works, don't you? This kind of corruption follows the same principle."
Rast's calm, low voice drifted through the tense air."Their minds have already been eroded. They've lost the emotions normal people feel — joy, anger, sorrow — and what's left has been twisted. Now, they can only feel pleasure through inflicting suffering on others. Everything else… every mundane act of life, no longer brings them joy."
"So, to chase that pleasure — that thrill — the corrupted will stop at nothing to torture and violate others."
"Love, friendship, family…" Rast's voice deepened slightly. "The more beautiful and sacred those emotions once were — the ones they vowed to protect at all costs — the more violently they're inverted. Under the Iron Cross's corruption, those same feelings become the roots of their sadism and destruction."
"The physical mutations that come with the corruption grant them strength and speed far beyond human limits," he continued. "And along with that, their vital organs — throat, heart, and others — grow reinforced membranes as hard as steel."
"Ordinary bullets or blades can't penetrate those defenses. Only high-caliber rifle rounds or armor-piercing ammunition can barely pierce them. Of course…" Rast's gaze flicked to Hiltina's sword. "…extraordinary weapons like your Morning Star can do the job too."
His words were measured, steady — yet the quiet gravity behind them pressed against the room like lead.
"These corrupted ones share a distinct trait," Rast went on. "A massive scar shaped like a cross, burned deep into their flesh, dark gray like iron."
"I call them the Iron Cross."
"And what later generations refer to as the Iron Cross Plague," he added softly, "likely took its name from them."
He turned toward the coachman's corpse lying sprawled across the floor."In truth, according to what I remember from previous cycles, he shouldn't have been here."
"But your arrival changed the flow," Rast said, glancing at Hiltina. "He must've waited near the manor far longer than before — worried about us, perhaps — and during that time, something contaminated him. The seed of corruption took root without him ever realizing it… and sprouted once he returned home."
Hiltina fell silent, piecing together what he meant.
In the earlier timelines Rast had experienced, she hadn't existed — which meant Rast had no reason to fabricate that "private investigator catching a cheating wife" excuse.And the coachman, not waiting nearby out of concern, wouldn't have encountered the contamination that consumed him this time.
"…It sounds a bit like zombies," Hiltina murmured, recalling the popular zombie movies at Stellar University.
"If only it were that simple," Rast said with a faint, weary smile as he reloaded his revolver.
"The zombies in those films — they're just beasts with human shapes. Slow, dumb, driven by instinct. Strip away the infection aspect, and even wolves are more dangerous. But the Iron Cross…" He snapped the cylinder shut. "…they still have intelligence. Intelligence ruled entirely by destruction and sadistic will."
"They can use tools. Drive vehicles. Disguise themselves. Set traps. Lure victims." He turned the cylinder, the faint click echoing like punctuation. "Anything humans can do, they can do — only with cruelty in place of reason."
Hiltina frowned. "Even firearms?"
"Exactly," Rast nodded. "And because their perception is enhanced, every Iron Cross is… a perfect marksman."
He gave a grim chuckle. "If the gunfights before the plague were like playing Grand Theft Auto… then after the outbreak, it became Battle Royale — except your opponents have auto-aim and perfect headshot accuracy."
Rast glanced down at his pocket watch. "It's about time."
"Time for what?" Hiltina began to ask.
BOOM—
A thunderous explosion shook the walls, the sound rolling in from far away — the port district, judging by the distance. Dark smoke spiraled upward, even from half a city away, faint orange flames flickering at its base.
"What happened?" Hiltina turned toward the window, eyes widening. The smoke was dense enough to stain the horizon.
"That," Rast replied quietly, "is a cargo ship scheduled to dock at Deep Blue Port at two this afternoon."
He closed his watch with a soft click.
"I watched it happen once before — the captain, already turned into an Iron Cross, laughing like a madman as he rammed the ship full-speed into the pier. He refused to let go of the helm even as fire and twisted steel consumed him."
He exhaled softly. "That moment marked the true beginning of the Iron Cross Plague in Deep Blue Port."
It all happened so fast — almost too fast to believe.
And as if to confirm his words, the distant roar from the docks hadn't even faded before chaos began to ripple through the streets outside the manor.
At first, faint noise — then screams.Cries of despair, desperate shouts, the barked orders of sheriffs trying to restore order — blending into a single storm of panic.Gunshots echoed sporadically, but each was followed by silence.
No one could tell whether the officers had taken down the Iron Cross… or been turned into one of them.
But one sound grew steadily clearer: laughter.
That crazed, hysterical laughter that Hiltina had first heard from the coachman.It multiplied — one voice becoming dozens, dozens becoming hundreds — until it drowned out all else.
Within mere minutes, the once-tranquil harbor town had transformed into a hellscape of madness and sin.
Hiltina exhaled slowly and turned to Rast."So, what now? Are you planning to find the source and contain the infection?"
"At first, yes," Rast said, shaking his head, "but that's impossible."
"The Iron Cross Plague spreads through bodily fluids — blood, saliva, droplets. Any contact can transmit it."
"And since those already infected crave violence above all else, they delight in spreading it — forcing others to become monsters just like them."
Hiltina's brow furrowed. "You mean they smear saliva on blades or bullets, so even a scratch infects the victim?"
"That's the crude method," Rast replied, pulling from his coat the lead-lined case that held the small idol of an eldritch god."Some of them go much further — mixing their own blood into the city's water supply, the wells, the rivers. The moment someone drinks, washes, or bathes… the corruption begins."
"To fight a plague like this with conventional quarantine measures," he said flatly, "would be pure fantasy."
He paused — then his tone shifted. "But that doesn't mean we're going to sit here and die."
From beside the couch, Rast picked up a suitcase — one Hiltina hadn't noticed before. He must've packed it while she slept.
He straightened, eyes drifting toward the window — toward the city now drowning in fire and screams.
"If a minefield suddenly appeared on the road you had to take," Rast asked quietly, "what would you do?"
Hiltina blinked, caught off guard. "Of course, I'd clear the mines first — with a detector, or trained dogs. That's what they taught us at the academy."
Rast nodded. "Correct. But what if the minefield was impossibly complex — every mine linked, every wire a trap — and you didn't have the time to clear it piece by piece?"
She hesitated, unsure how to answer.
Rast didn't wait for her to."There's another option," he said, his voice low but resolute."One final method…"
He lifted the suitcase, turned toward the side door of the manor, and stepped out into the smoke-stained light.
"…You blow up the entire field," he said. "Level the ground — and every mine with it."