Ryota and his escort left the Matsuda domain following Hiroto's arrest. The alliance was sealed, yet the taste of uncertainty lingered. The dissidents had not vanished with the fall of their leader, and a greater threat loomed in the shadows.
As they traveled along the dusty roads bordering Matsuda territory, a scout galloped toward them at full speed. The man halted abruptly before Ryota and Daichi, his horse panting heavily from the effort.
"Ryota-sama, an urgent matter has arisen in a nearby village."
Ryota raised an eyebrow. "What kind of problem?"
The scout looked troubled. "A strange plague. Several villagers have fallen ill with violent fevers, unbearable pain... Some are already dead. The survivors are isolated, and the village is nearly abandoned."
Daichi exchanged a glance with Ryota.
"A sudden epidemic, right after the fall of the Matsuda conspirators? That's too much of a coincidence."
Ryota nodded slowly.
"Perhaps it's not a coincidence. If a disease struck this village, why now?"
The scout hesitated before adding:
"Some say the well water is cursed. Others claim it's divine punishment..."
Ryota suppressed a sigh. Superstition was always the first answer to unexplained tragedies.
He turned back to the man. "Where is this village?"
"At the border of Matsuda lands, near the main road. Matsuda has ordered strict quarantine."
Ryota narrowed his eyes. "Has Matsuda sent anyone to investigate?"
The scout shook his head. "No. His advisors want to prevent any spread. They've given the order to burn the village if the situation worsens."
Daichi scowled, his expression darkening. "They want to destroy all evidence before even understanding the cause..."
Ryota knew Matsuda was a pragmatic man, but this decision was hasty. This illness could be a natural disaster... or a silent weapon wielded by the remaining dissidents.
He turned to Daichi. "We'll see for ourselves."
Daichi nodded. "We have no choice. If this plague is an act of sabotage, we must understand who is behind it."
The scout hesitated. "Ryota-sama... Some say a woman remains there. A foreigner. She has been tending to the sick for days."
Ryota raised an eyebrow. A lone woman in a doomed village?
He mounted his horse.
"Then we will find this woman."
Their path was clear.
Somewhere in that forsaken village, a mystery awaited.
The wind carried the stench of death.
Ryota rode at the head of the group, his sharp gaze scanning the horizon as they neared the cursed village. Around them, nature seemed held in suspense, frozen in ominous silence. Once-fertile fields lay in neglect, abandoned crops withering under an uncaring sun.
Wooden houses, built with the meager means of their inhabitants, bore clear signs of abandonment. Some doors stood wide open, swaying slowly in the breeze, while others had been barricaded from within, as if those inside had clung to hope for survival.
The silence was suffocating. No laughter of children, no rustling of life. Only the sound of hooves against dry earth echoed in the still air.
A thin mist clung to the ground, snaking between the alleys like an unseen specter. The atmosphere was heavy, almost oppressive, as if the village itself held its breath.
Then, the first corpse appeared on their path.
And then another.
A mass grave beneath an open sky.
Bodies lay scattered—some curled in on themselves, others carefully arranged and covered with modest cloths. The survivors had at least tried to grant dignity to the dead.
Ryota slowed his mount and let his gaze settle on a pile of blackened ashes near a small square.
"They've begun burning the bodies," Daichi noted in a low voice.
Ryota nodded. "But not all of them. Why?"
Daichi had no answer.
The scent of charred wood, burnt flesh, and decay clung to them as they ventured deeper into the village. Then, a sudden movement caught their attention.
An old man, gaunt and drenched in sweat, stumbled out of a house. His tattered clothing barely clung to his frail frame, his hollowed cheeks proof of starvation. He lifted clouded eyes toward Ryota and his group before freezing at the sight of their armor.
He didn't need to ask. The brief flicker of hope in his gaze died instantly.
He knew they weren't here to save the village.
Ryota dismounted and approached the man with measured steps.
"What happened here?" he asked, his voice calm yet firm.
The old man recoiled slightly. His mouth opened, hesitated, then murmured:
"You've come... to burn the rest? As the Matsuda lords ordered?"
Ryota didn't answer immediately.
The man shook his head bitterly. "This village is already dead. Only shadows remain. Those who survived are condemned."
"A disease?" Daichi asked.
The old man let out a humorless laugh. "No... A curse."
Ryota exchanged a glance with Daichi. More superstitions.
"The gods do not kill this way," Ryota replied. "Tell me about this curse."
The elder hesitated, then turned his gaze toward the village center.
"You should ask her. She is the one who stayed."
Ryota raised an eyebrow. "Who?"
The old man swallowed hard.
"The foreigner. The woman with white hands. She did not flee like the others. She tends to those who have nothing left."
A shiver ran through some of the soldiers behind Ryota.
"A foreigner?" Daichi murmured, intrigued.
"She is not one of us," the elder confirmed. "She has no name, no family here. But she does not fall ill, either."
A long silence stretched between them.
Ryota felt a flicker of irritation. He had no time for myths or absurd mysteries.
"Where is she?"
The old man lifted a trembling finger, pointing toward the central square.
"There. With those waiting for the end."
Ryota exhaled slowly, pushing back the frustration weighing on his shoulders.
He didn't like riddles.
But he had to see this woman.
They moved through the village, advancing toward the heart of the tragedy.
There, amidst the ruins of a once-thriving life, stood a singular figure.
A woman knelt beside a sick man, her delicate hands applying a balm to his fevered brow.
The moment Ryota saw her, he understood. She was not like the others. She did not belong here. Her beauty was otherworldly, timeless. Long, wavy black hair framed a face of flawless elegance.
Her deep, dark eyes—vast as an endless abyss—gleamed with sharp intelligence and unshaken resolve. Her luminous, porcelain skin, foreign to this land, made her presence even more striking. She was not merely beautiful. She was captivating.
Even his battle-hardened soldiers stood frozen, enthralled by her aura. Daichi, usually composed, murmured under his breath:
"By all the gods..."
But Ryota did not look away.
It was not just her beauty that unsettled him. It was her presence. Her unwavering confidence. She did not tremble. She did not seem afraid or impressed by their arrival. And then, slowly, she lifted her gaze to his.
Her eyes locked onto his, and for the first time in years, Ryota felt he was being seen differently.
Not as an heir.
Not as a warrior.
Not as a man to be feared or revered.
But as a mere human.
Then, in a voice as steady as it was coldly gentle, she spoke.
"You arrive quite late, Lord Yamazaki."
Ryota remained silent for a moment. She knew who he was. And she did not lower her gaze.
A woman unlike any he had ever met.
A woman who seemed to fear neither death... nor him.
Her name was Mei.
And as it echoed in his mind, it felt like a challenge.
And Ryota never turned away from a challenge.