The fire was not large, but in the darkness of an ancient night, it was exceptionally conspicuous. Even the veil of the Goddess of the Night was tinged red by the glow.
At midnight, the city center should not have had so many people gathered. Unfortunately, beside the threshing floor stood the city’s only tavern, which harbored dozens of travelers who had been driven to Norin.
Trapped in a dangerous city, these frustrated folks had seen all their plans derailed with no telling when they could leave safely. Out of sheer boredom, they drowned their sorrows in alcohol, idling in the tavern day in and day out until the early hours of the morning before returning to their lodgings.
And tonight, the tavern caught fire.
The wooden tavern burned rapidly, and before long, flames engulfed the entire structure, threatening to spread to the surrounding buildings.
Amidst the roaring fire, dozens of people fled in panic across the threshing floor, their terrified screams echoing continuously.
The city’s firefighting apparatus was actually well-maintained, with firefighting tools stationed everywhere. Yet at this moment, no one stepped forward to fight the blaze; most people scrambled blindly across the threshing floor in horror, turning the edge of the grounds into a scene of apocalyptic chaos.
For behind these dozens of fleeing people surged seven or eight frantic attackers.
Blood smeared across their lips, eyes bloodshot, tireless and swift-footed, they relentlessly pursued those on the run. Every now and then, one would tackle a victim, pinning them down to gnaw viciously amid piercing screams. In an instant, maniacal roars and hopeless shrieks became the dominant chorus on the threshing floor.
Indeed, the infection had erupted among the travelers drowning their sorrows in the tavern. Companions who had been drinking heartily and cursing loudly together a moment prior suddenly transformed into man-eating maniacs. The sober travelers fled in panic, accidentally knocking over wine barrels and oil lamps in their haste, engulfing the tavern in a sea of flames before spilling out onto the threshing floor alongside the infected.
Dark night, blazing flames, flickering shadows, fleeing figures, flesh-devouring infected, and wailing victims.
When Lynch rushed to the threshing floor with Judy, this nightmarish spectacle met his eyes, giving him the haunting sensation of stepping back into Raccoon Town.
“Don’t put out the fire yet! Have the arriving reinforcements surround the perimeter! Kill all the infected on the spot and secure all the injured—don't let a single one slip away!”
Lynch had arrived alongside the soldiers stationed at the fortress to bolster their numbers. Seeing the chaotic scene, he immediately barked out orders.
The soldiers had initially been at a loss, torn between sticking to their training to extinguish the fire first or handling the crowd. Hearing Lynch's decisive command gave them immediate direction. Shouting to their comrades patrolling the streets, they drew their weapons and charged directly at the infected.
The infected possessed no intellect, driven purely by appetite. With prey scattered everywhere, they paid no heed to the rushing soldiers. Swinging their axes with lethal efficiency, the soldiers brought down an infected with every few chops, swiftly ensuring all eight madmen were permanently calmed.
Only then did the travelers detained on the threshing floor feel a wave of safety. Unmindful of the blood and filth pooling everywhere, they collapsed onto the ground, many bursting into tears on the spot.
But the soldiers did not rest. Quite a few people had already fled the threshing floor earlier, and some among them might have been scratched or bitten—looming hazards in their own right. Fortunately, it was the middle of the night, and the vast majority of citizens were already asleep at home. The streets were completely deserted, save for these terrified victims and the patrolling guards. Consequently, they quickly rounded up everyone who had escaped the tavern.
This outbreak was an oversight by the city administration, and Norin would bear full responsibility. The victims were tallied on the spot: those who were merely shaken up could go straight home, and the City Lord's residence would issue a verbal apology later. Meanwhile, those injured tonight were registered based on their wounds; they would receive free medical treatment immediately and could claim a substantial compensation payout tomorrow using tonight's registry.
This announcement was made by the soldiers after overhearing some disgruntled murmurs. The crying, clamoring crowd fell silent in an instant. Within seconds, over a dozen people shoved their way toward the registering soldiers, vying to display their wounds.
They exposed every scratch, no matter how trivial, to the soldiers. Someone pointed at a nearly healed old scar, claiming it was a fresh claw mark from tonight, while others went so far as to secretly scratch their own skin to fake a wound. They beamed with pride at their own cleverness as they registered—after all, it was a hefty sum of compensation, and these soldiers seemed foolish enough not to tell the difference. To them, taking advantage of it was a no-brainer.
Lynch stood with Judy in the shadow of a building, watching this display of human nature play out on the square without interfering. Everyone had the right to make their choice, but they also had to bear the consequences. He could only wish them good luck.
Before long, a soldier returned to report the findings of their investigation.
Among the travelers drinking away their worries in the tavern, besides the innocent ordinary travelers swept up in the mess, there were two genuine merchants—and very wealthy ones at that.
Both were accustomed to lives of comfort and luxury. Being trapped in this remote border city, forced to wash down low-quality white bread and bland vegetables with alcohol every day, had pushed them to their limit over the past couple of days.
Today, however, one of the merchants had somehow managed to procure a good quantity of refined white bread, along with fresh fruit and cured meat. Feeling as though it were a festive holiday, they brought the spread to the tavern that evening, inviting several travelers they had befriended over the past few days to drink to their heart's content.
Thus, under the envious eyes of dozens of stranded travelers, the eight of them drank heavily through the night, devouring all the fine food over three or four hours. It was only when they were preparing to call it a night that, one after another, all eight slumped onto their tables.
And that led to the frantic scene from earlier.
Lynch could only shake his head in resignation. When the soldiers had conducted their search for the contaminated grain that afternoon, they had visited nearly every citizen in town, but they had clearly overlooked these travelers, nearly causing a catastrophic disaster.
Still, there was a silver lining: at least Lynch no longer needed to rack his brain wondering where the missing batch of grain had gone.
Seeing that the situation was fully under control, Lynch finally felt relieved. Leaving the scene for the soldiers to manage, he headed back to the fortress with a few companions.
The fortress remained shrouded in pitch-black darkness, looking no different from when Lynch had departed.
The entire barracks was as quiet as a tomb, completely devoid of life. After all, the guards left behind had all rushed off to reinforce the emergency scene; when Lynch’s group had left, only four soldiers remained in the camp.
However, the moment the group arrived at the entrance, they realized something was horribly wrong. The two sentries guarding the gate had collapsed, giant, horrifying gashes torn into their throats that nearly severed half their necks.
One glance was enough to tell the wounds were inflicted by sharp claws—the exact same marks found on the victims dissected earlier today.
Claw marks of a ghoul.
Seeing their comrades—with whom they had been chatting and laughing just an hour ago—now reduced to cold corpses, the returning soldiers flared with shock and fury, shouting in distress. Ignoring their reactions, Lynch signaled for Judy to guard him and stepped closer to inspect the bodies.
Killed in a single, clean strike—completely unlike the victims whose wounds had been mimicked using tools. Blood was still oozing from the hideous gashes and had yet to congeal; they had clearly died less than five minutes ago.
Lynch's heart sank. This was likely the work of a real ghoul. Could it be the one lurking right beside the City Lord?
But why would he kill the guards and sneak into the barracks? What could possibly be inside the camp to attract him?
Was he trying to sabotage Dr. Sven’s work? Or could it be...
Remembering the dozens of raving infected locked inside the dungeon, Lynch involuntarily shuddered.
Rate on N.U.
