Iron Blooded Hound

Chapter 70: Plague of the Dark Mountains

Ornate's trackers lay dead, their voices silenced in death's grip. Vikir and Aiyen pressed on through the stench of decay, their eyes tracing the grim tale written by the fallen.

"Is this...?"

Aiyen's gaze faltered, unable to fully comprehend the scene before them. Ornate's trackers, usually so talkative, now screamed their demise through every fiber of their being. Signs of struggle were everywhere – vomit, excrement, attempts to stave off the cold with fires and leaves, and, chillingly, red spots on their skin.

Aiyen swallowed hard. "So this is what champions look like when they meet their end."

Only the relatively healthy would dare to hunt. Aiyen shuddered, realizing the fate that may have befallen those left behind in the village.

"Let's move," Vikir urged, leading the way.

As they ventured into Lavish's territory, they noticed the absence of the usual markers that adorned their expansive domain. Skulls and bodies, typically left as warnings, remained untouched for too long, overgrown with moss and mold.

"It seems something has happened to the village," Aiyen remarked, pushing through the boundaries of Rokoko's domain.

There were no signs of life within the village, no smoke rising despite the hour. Vikir and Aiyen halted at the village entrance, met not by guards but by eerie emptiness. The ramshackle dwellings stood deserted, weeds reclaiming the floors, belongings strewn haphazardly.

"Where did everyone go?" Aiyen frowned, stepping into the abandoned tents.

Then they found them.

Yue Yue-.

A swarm of flies erupted from the tents, carrying with them the putrid stench of decaying flesh. Inside lay three children and a woman, their faces frozen in the agony of death.

"The others are the same," Vikir observed, moving past the emblems of other tents nearby.

The inhabitants of Ornate had been wiped out before they could flee. Most bodies were decomposed beyond recognition, but the few that remained intact bore the telltale red spots.

"Is this... a plague?" Aiyen's voice trembled with fear, the thought of deadly diseases striking terror into the hearts of wilderness warriors.

Vikir's mouth hung open in disbelief. Suddenly, a memory resurfaced – the dreaded Red Plague that had ravaged the land.

"The Red Plague," he muttered, recalling the tales of its merciless spread.

The plague, a class one scourge, spared few in its path, afflicting beasts and human alike with its merciless grip. Its victims suffered slow, agonizing deaths marked by red spots, vomiting, diarrhea, and crippling pain.

"How do they cure it?" Aiyen's voice wavered, her mind racing with fear.

Vikir searched his memory, recalling the distant knowledge of remedies for such afflictions.

"No, it's not a curse!" Aiyen grabbed Vikir's collar, panic in her eyes.

"Quickly, we must leave!"

"Why?" Vikir's brow furrowed, trying to understand her terror.

"Why? It's a curse! A curse from the gods!"

But Vikir remained calm. "It's a plague," he stated matter-of-factly.

"What!? That's even worse! We have to go! This place is cursed! You Fancy mongrels, every time you dabble in your unholy rituals, you end up like this...!" Aiyen's voice quivered with fear.

"Calm down, it's not easily transmitted," Vikir reassured her, his gaze returning to Rokoko's village.

Aiyen's outburst only confirmed the fear that had gripped the locals. But Vikir knew better.

"If you're so scared, go back first."

"And if you die because you're cursed?"

"If I die, I die."

Vikir's nonchalant response left Aiyen stunned, but she didn't run off alone. Instead, she clung to Vikir's collar, trembling with fear.

Together, they explored the village, realizing that the Ornate hadn't perished entirely – they had simply moved on, leaving behind their dead and dying.

"Well, if there were carriers among the survivors, the outcome would be the same no matter where they fled," Vikir mused, empathizing with the survivors' desperate choice.

But there was no guarantee they would be safe from the Red Plague. Still, it offered Vikir a chance to delve deeper into the mysterious world of the Ornate clan.

Scouring the Ornate's barracks, Vikir gathered books and artifacts that could shed light on their enemy and the savage clans of the Dark Mountains. Suddenly, Aiyen's cries pierced the air.

"Kaaaaaah!"

Alarmed, Vikir rushed outside, where Aiyen's panicked screams grew louder.

"The curse! Cursed child!"

Aiyen's terror was palpable, rooted in the deep-seated fear of the plague that gripped all denizens of the wilderness.

Vikir followed her gaze and spotted a child standing on the outskirts of the village, near the smallest, most dilapidated barracks.

"...Imperial?" Vikir squinted, recognizing the child he hadn't seen in the past two years of their journey.

The child, barely five years old, had black hair, red eyes, and skin as pale as snow. She stood barefoot, reluctant to leave her spot.

Behind her stood a crude stone cairn, untouched for years. Purple flowers, freshly picked, lay scattered before it.

"Aaahhhh! It must be a ghost, a cursed child of the forest god! We have to run, Vikir! You go first, I'll be right behind you! Oh, my legs are weak...!" Aiyen's voice trembled with fear.

But Vikir, recognizing the child from their past, felt compelled to learn her story.

"I can see the rest of the Ornate clan," Vikir said calmly, walking towards the child.

Aiyen, though frightened, didn't run off. Instead, she clung to Vikir's collar, her fear palpable.

"Ugh...ugh. Is it true or not that we are truly being cursed?" she whimpered.

Vikir smiled wryly, amused by Aiyen's reaction. "It's a plague," he explained calmly.

"And if you die because you're cursed?" Aiyen's voice trembled with fear.

"If I die, I die," Vikir replied, unfazed.

Though Aiyen remained frightened, she stayed close as they explored the village, realizing the Ornate had simply moved on, leaving behind their dead and dying.

Vikir paused, spotting something in the child's hand.

"Hey. There's this inside. Ew, it's not cursed, right?" Aiyen tossed something to Vikir.

It was a small gold pendant, adorned with the tooth-like symbol of the Baskervilles.

"Isn't that your family's symbol?" Aiyen asked, recalling Vikir's mention of the Baskervilles.

Vikir's suspicion grew as he opened the pendant, revealing a small, meticulously drawn portrait.

"This?" Vikir squinted, studying the image.

It depicted an unnamed girl, a young man, and a teenage girl. The girl had

light hair and blue eyes, the young man had the dark hair and red eyes of the Baskervilles, and the teenager had dark hair and red eyes as well.

Vikir recognized the young man immediately.

"Hugo le Baskerville! No way!"

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