Heavy gray clouds hung low over Stratholme, thick and oppressive.
Outside the city, a sizable military camp bisected the road, cutting Stratholme off from the outside world.
Wooden fences, chevaux-de-frise, and watchtowers completely sealed the main gates of Stratholme.
Heraldic banners snapped in the cold wind above the camp.
Armored soldiers patrolled back and forth between the watchtowers and palisades.
Every now and then, fully armored knights mounted on tall warhorses could be seen leading small squads of soldiers along the blockade line.
Beyond the camp, a sprawling sea of crude tents lined both sides of the once-spacious main road.
They varied in size and condition—a haphazard mix of proper canvas tents and makeshift shelters held up by branches and tattered rags.
Clotheslines stretched between the tents, hung with washed clothes that couldn't dry in the cold, frozen stiff like rigid little flags in the icy wind.
These were temporary shelters built by the civilians stranded outside the city.
Even so, a few peddlers had set up stalls along the edge of the road to do business.
After all, being right next to the camp meant that even if the civilians were broke, the soldiers and noble knights inside couldn't survive on dry rations alone every day.
The stalls displayed goods that could last through winter: dried fruit, smoked fish, coarse salt, tobacco, and some locally grown winter produce.
Hunching their shoulders inside worn cotton coats, the vendors tucked their hands into their sleeves, calling out half-heartedly with throats stiffened by the cold.
The air smelled of dry hay, charcoal ash, and cooked food—not entirely unpleasant, but imbued with a pervasive sense of desolation and helplessness.
Rosie pulled her gaze back from the distant camp and let it rest on a small stall.
A piece of old burlap was spread across the stall, piled with vibrant red fruits slightly larger than walnuts, their skin smooth and translucent red.
She walked over and said, “Vendor, give me a few snow fruits.”
The stall owner exhaled a puff of white vapor and rubbed his reddened hands. “One copper for two. How many do you want?”
“I'll take ten.” Rosie fished five copper coins out from her cloak and handed them over.
The stall owner took the money and tossed it into a coin pouch at his feet. “Pick 'em yourself.”
Rosie squatted before the stall, selecting the larger snow fruits while asking casually, “What happened to Stratholme? Why is it sealed off?”
The vendor let out a heavy sigh. “A plague broke out in the city. In the short time I went out to get inventory, the gates were sealed. I don't even know how my wife and kids are doing...”
Rosie continued, “Is there any way to get inside?”
The vendor lowered his voice. “See that camp over there? The ones enforcing the blockade are from the Order of Norman Knights. No one goes in or out. If you're hoping to get inside to find relatives or something, I suggest you give up on that idea.”
“Alright, thank you.”
Rosie gathered her chosen snow fruits and stood up, walking back to Alysia, who was draped head-to-toe in a black cloak.
She handed a few snow fruits to her, then wiped one against her sleeve and took a bite.
The flesh was sweet and sour, its juice bursting in her mouth with a crisp freshness unique to winter.
“There's a plague inside, and the gates are locked down. The Order of Norman Knights is guarding it—no entry or exit allowed.”
Alysia took the snow fruits but didn't eat them right away, simply holding them in her palm.
“Mm. Then we will return tonight.”
Rosie paused mid-bite, swallowed the piece of fruit, and looked up at Alysia. “Tonight? There's a plague in there. If you're not afraid to die, I still am.”
Alysia's voice remained calm. “Trust me. Nothing will happen.”
Rosie popped another snow fruit into her mouth and asked, “What if... the people we're here to rescue are already infected?”
“I will find a way...” Alysia replied.
“Ptui!” Rosie spat a seed to the side of the road and wiped her mouth. “Fine. If you say so, what else can I say?”
The two didn't linger in the crowded tent city.
Baron Rhodes was dead, but the assassination of a noble was no small matter.
Every extra moment spent wandering in plain sight increased their risk of exposure.
Night gradually fell.
The icy wind, sweeping horizontally across the plains outside the city with fine snowflakes, rattled the tattered rags of the tent encampment.
The temperature plummeted abruptly, driving the refugees early into their tents for shelter.
Campfires flared up one by one in the twilight of the military camp, their orange glow fluttering in the wind, casting dim shadows of patrolling soldiers walking back and forth.
Stratholme covered a vast area; while the military camp blockaded the city gates and immediate surrounding area, the long defense line of the outer walls could not be completely sealed tight.
Once night fell, the wind and snow grew fierce, swallowing most areas in total darkness.
Two figures, taking advantage of the dual cover of dark night and swirling snow, rapidly closed in on a wall section far from the military camp.
Alysia paused at the base of the wall and crouched down, retrieving a seed from inside her black cloak. She pressed it into the frozen earth at the foundation and softly incanted a long spell.
The seed shuddered, then began creeping upward at a speed visible to the naked eye until it tightly bound itself around the top of the wall.
Grabbing the vine, Alysia climbed up first.
Once Alysia hauled herself over the battlements, Rosie grabbed the vine and scrambled up hand over foot.
Her brigandine armor carried a chill in the nighttime cold. She pulled herself into a recess along the top of the wall, exhaling a plume of white mist as she turned her head toward the city.
The entirety of Stratholme was dead silent, without a single flick of light.
Rosie frowned. “Strange. Even with a plague, it shouldn't be this quiet, right?”
Alysia pushed her hood back, revealing her delicate face and iconic pointed ears.
The night wind ruffled the stray locks over her forehead, and her upturned nose twitched subtly.
“I smell the stench of decay,” she whispered.
Rosie mimicked her and twitched her own nose, but smelled nothing except the dry, odorless chill of cold air.
“Well, we're already here. Let's go in and take a look.”
She rested a hand against the hilt at her waist, adjusting it to a comfortable drawing position.
Alysia nodded, pulling her hood back up. “Mm. Be careful.”
The two descended the stairs along the inner face of the wall, turning off a ramp into the outer city district.
No lights, no voices, no barking dogs—nothing at all.
The entire city of Stratholme was submerged in a dead silence.
“To the inner city,” Alysia said in a hushed tone. “Rhodes said the people were sent to Countess Elizabeth's castle.”
“Another noble,” Rosie grumbled under her breath with a sense of helpless expectation. “We already killed a baron. Don't tell me we're going to kill a countess too?”
“We are here to save people, not to kill,” Alysia's voice drifted out from beneath her hood.
“Who knows...” Rosie murmured, following behind the elf.
Alysia didn't reply.
After a few more steps, she suddenly stopped and raised a hand.
The movement was subtle, but Rosie stopped immediately as well, pricking her ears to listen.
A few breaths later, the sound of footsteps echoed through the air.
The footsteps sounded different from a normal person's stride.
More sluggish, heavier—as though feet were shuffling along the ground.
Alysia didn't fall back; instead, she walked toward the direction of the footsteps.
Rosie followed behind her, her fingers already resting on her sword hilt.
They rounded a corner.
The street ahead revealed a short outline under the dim sky.
There stood a cluster of indistinct figures.
A gust of cold wind blew past, bringing an unignorable stench.
It smelled like meat left in a damp environment for far too long, beginning to decompose.
Rosie's gaze locked onto the dark figures.
The dark figures varied in height, their joints stiff, standing in postures unnatural for living humans.
Rosie sucked in a sharp breath. “Zombies?”
“Undead? No, this is... a Living Corpse Plague!” Alysia exclaimed in rare shock.
One of the dark figures suddenly twitched.
Then a second, and a third.
Pair after pair of murky eyes turned toward the two uninvited guests at the street corner.
“Ughhh...”
A low, raspy groan squeezed out from deep within the throat of the first living corpse.
Immediately after, all the living corpses began to move.
Their steps were stiff and sluggish, their arms reaching straight forward with fingers curled into claws as they slowly closed in on them.
The foul stench of decay in the air grew heavier with their movement.
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