Meanwhile, deep in the shadow-cloaked alleyways behind the Talagra City Official Bureau, Leon found himself cornered.
His back pressed to the damp brick wall, moonlight barely filtering through the gaps above, he stared down two masked figures—their presence cloaked in a thick, unnatural aura that made his skin crawl. Their robes were dark, almost swallowing light itself, and though their faces were hidden, their very stillness spoke of something inhuman.
How did I end up in this mess...? he thought bitterly.
It started innocently enough—a simple visit to the city offices to question the guards and clerks about the Tara Garden. Some of the lower-level staff, clearly annoyed by the chaos caused by the clergy, had let slip that a "development project" was being quietly planned—a project that would replace the garden entirely with a structure benefiting the ruling officials. The revelation had been subtle, tucked behind sarcasm and eye-rolls, but the pattern was clear:
Profit was being placed over people.
But could they have poisoned the garden themselves? That was the question Leon couldn't shake.
Hungry for confirmation, he'd attempted to sneak into the administrative archives through a narrow alley around back. That's when these things appeared—silent, masked men with weapons too long and too clean. They hadn't spoken. They hadn't warned. They had simply attacked.
Steel rang against steel, as Leon parried one of their massive blades with his twin daggers, the force nearly knocking him off his feet. The narrow alley gave him little room to maneuver, but he was quick—dodging and weaving, sliding between walls and crates like smoke through cracks.
They're strong—but why attack me? Were they sent by the officials? Or... are they something else entirely?
Their movements were unnatural, too precise—no wasted motion, no hesitation. As the fight stretched on, Leon realized he couldn't afford to stay in a prolonged clash. His instincts screamed that these men weren't just human mercenaries—there was something darker beneath those masks. Something... demonic.
He feinted a retreat, narrowly avoiding a blade that hummed with strange sigils, then burst from the alley, diving into the crowded streets.
The city was alive with noise and motion. Perfect cover. He sprinted through the crowd, weaving past carts and startled citizens, until the danger behind him faded. Gasping, he slowed his pace.
And then he collided—hard—with something unmovable.
He staggered back, his eyes rising to meet the massive form of a man—no, a giant—wearing the exact same mask as his previous attackers. This one, however, made no move to draw a weapon. Instead, he stared at Leon through slits in the mask.
Then he spoke, his voice deep and laced with something ancient.
"You smell of the sage. Interesting."
Before Leon could react, the giant reached out with one massive hand and grabbed his face.
Reality twisted. The world spun into a whirl of color and silence. In a flash, the street disappeared.
Leon was gone.
The crowd panicked for a moment, disoriented by the sudden ripple of energy. But by the time the guards turned their heads, the man with the mask was already stepping through a tear in space, following Leon into a hidden realm—one only demons or their servants could summon.
And on the wind that lingered behind them, one word whispered like a curse:
"Sage..."
Elsewhere, across the sprawling city of Talagra, Amira made her way to the central hospital—a weathered stone structure nestled between the city's noble district and the slums. The scent of antiseptics mixed with incense wafted through the halls, an odd combination of medicine and prayer.
This was where the victims of the garden's poison were brought. Flashing her guild badge to the receptionist, she was granted access without hesitation—adventurers were held in high regard during times of crisis.
But nothing could prepare her for what she saw.
Rows of beds lined the ward, each occupied by people in varying states of torment. Purple pustules riddled their bodies, throbbing grotesquely beneath stretched, discolored skin. Bright red veins pulsed like cursed rivers, snaking across limbs and faces. Many patients lay unconscious, twitching or groaning in agony. Some whimpered prayers. Others simply wept.
This was no natural illness.
The poison was alive, tearing through its victims from within.
Shaken but composed, Amira proceeded to the head nurse's office, where she was greeted by a woman with tired eyes and graying auburn hair tucked under a medical cap.
"You must be the guild envoy," the woman said, gesturing for her to sit. "I'm Head Nurse Julie."
"I came to gather information on the poisoning," Amira said, eyes sharp but respectful.
Julie sighed and leaned back in her chair. "This poison... it's unlike anything we've ever treated. Normally, we can counteract almost anything—even low-grade curses with the help of healing mages. But this?" She shook her head. "Even our head doctor, a certified 4th Star alchemist, failed to identify a cure. We sent a sample to the capital weeks ago. Nothing has come back."
Amira narrowed her eyes. "When did the symptoms first appear?"
Julie looked hesitant, glancing toward the door before continuing. "Roughly three months ago. Around the time of the Garden's annual ceremony."
A ceremony held by High Priest?"
She nodded. "Yes. Every year, Santanios holds a celebration in honor of Saint Arlette. Normally, Sage Fionalla is involved. She helps maintain the prestige of the Garden but this year... she didn't attend."
Amira's brows furrowed. "Why not?"
Julie looked away. "She vanished. No public explanation. Then, just a few days after the ceremony, the first patients began appearing. At first, it was fatigue. Then the discoloration. The pustules. The internal decay. When healing magic began backfiring—aggravating the symptoms instead of relieving them—we realized it was something else."
She leaned forward, her voice low.
"It's poison. It's alive. And it's spreading."
Amira's throat tightened. "Then why hasn't this been made public? Why allow citizens near the Garden?"
Julie hesitated—visibly struggling. "Because the Church... demanded silence. Said it would incite fear. Panic. They begged us to call it an 'epidemic'—not a curse. And I... I agreed. I signed that silence."
The guilt in her voice was palpable. Her hands trembled slightly as she fidgeted with a quill on her desk.
"You still have time to speak out," Amira said softly. "More will die if you don't."
Julie looked like she was about to respond—her mouth parted, eyes wide—but she froze.
"That man... he would k—" She cut herself off.
A heavy silence fell.
She rose stiffly and turned away. "I think it's best if you leave now."
Amira stood, unsure whether to push further. The temperature in the room had dropped—not from magic, but fear.
Something, or someone, had silenced Julie. Not through persuasion—but threat.
And now Amira had confirmation of what she feared: the poison was real, it was magical, and it began the day Fionalla disappeared.
Who is "that man"... and what power does he hold over this city?
Amira stepped out into the hallway, her boots echoing against the stone floor as another cry of pain echoed from the ward.
She clenched her fists.
As Amira stepped out of the hospital's main wing, the air felt colder—as if the building itself had exhaled dread. The sky above Talagra was overcast, casting long shadows across the cobbled streets. She wrapped her cloak tighter around her, her senses still buzzing with the unease from her meeting with Nurse Julie.
Just as she passed the arched gateway near the courtyard, two figures brushed by her shoulders.
Men in cloaks—hooded, faces hidden beneath smooth, expressionless white masks.
They didn't look like priests. They weren't city guards. Their pace was brisk, their movements too rehearsed. Something about them sent a chill down her spine.
Amira froze mid-step and turned around.
They were heading toward the hospital.
Her instincts screamed—something was wrong. Without hesitation, she turned and followed.
The men moved swiftly, disappearing around a corner that led deeper into the east wing—toward the restricted recovery wards.
Amira rushed after them but—
They were gone.
The hallway stood empty, the only sound the soft hum of magical lanterns illuminating the cold stone walls.
Then it came.
A scream—sharp, panicked, blood-curdling—ripped through the silence from a room just down the hall.
Amira sprinted forward and kicked open the door.
What she saw stole her breath.
Nurse Julie's body was suspended against the far wall—impaled through the chest by a long, jagged sword.
Blood soaked her white uniform, pooling beneath her feet, streaming down the weapon that held her like a crucifix. Her head hung low, lifeless. Her eyes were wide open, staring in horror at something that was no longer there.
"Julie!" Amira cried out, rushing to her.
She grasped the hilt of the blade and yanked it free, causing a fresh wave of blood to splatter across the room and onto her arms. She caught Julie's body as it slumped forward, her pulse absent, her breath long gone.
Footsteps thundered behind her as doctors and nurses stormed in, gasping at the sight.
"She's dead!" one cried. "Get the medic priest! Now!"
Amira laid Julie gently on the floor, her fingers trembling, stained red.
She shot up and sprinted through the corridor, every hallway and chamber turning into a blur as she searched for the masked men—the ones who did this.
But they were gone.
No trace. No shadow. Not even a footprint.
She returned to the courtyard, panting, fists clenched, chest heaving.
This wasn't random.
Julie had tried to speak—to reveal something vital—and now she was dead. Executed. Silenced.
Her warning echoed in Amira's mind.
"That man... he would k—"
Amira swallowed the lump in her throat and looked toward the peaks of Mount Tar in the distance, where the garden still bloomed.
"What the hell is going on in this city..." she whispered to herself, her voice trembling with fury.