Herba's eyes widened, his voice climbing to a shrill pitch. "So, you're saying that demon is here?
"Shh, we don't know that yet," Devon whispered, his tone urgent but steady, trying to quell Herba's rising panic. "That's what we're going to find out.
" He gestured toward the staircase, and they hurried up the creaking wooden steps, the air growing colder with each level they ascended.
A faint and quiet movement was caught by Devon's eye, it felt like someone was lurking about and spying on him. He shook off the sensation, focusing on the task ahead.
Silas pointed to a warped door at the end of a crooked passage on the highest floor of the legislative house.
The hallway was dim, lit only by flickering oil lamps that cast long, wavering shadows on the stone walls.
"In here," he said, his voice low and gravelly.
Devon pushed the door open, revealing a modest room bathed in the faint glow of moonlight streaming through three tall windows.
One was slightly ajar, letting in a cool breeze that carried the scent of damp earth and pine.
The room felt heavy, as though the air itself held secrets.
Chief Tanister's bed sat against the right wall, its wooden frame creaking faintly under his weight.
Devon stepped closer, his boots scuffing against the worn floorboards.
His gaze fell on the bedridden chief. Tanister's face was gaunt, slick with sweat, his once-proud beard matted and unkempt.
The battle scars on his left cheek, a mark of his storied past, stood out starkly against his pallid skin.
Devon's stomach twisted at the sight.
A faint chime sounded in his mind, and the system's heads-up display flickered into view.
[Quest Part 2: Find Chief Tanister, complete. +150 supremacy points.]
[New mission: Find the real threat.]
"Find the real threat?" Devon muttered under his breath, a knot of unease tightening in his chest.
'I've got a bad feeling about this.'
Herba edged closer, his eyes narrowing as he studied Tanister's prone form.
"Look at those marks," he said, his voice trembling with a mix of awe and dread.
He pointed to the faint purple veins snaking across Tanister's arms, creeping toward his neck.
"It's just like Tandor. This is bad, Devon. Very bad." He took a few steps back, his scepter tapping nervously against the floor.
Devon raised a hand, trying to calm the councilman. "How long do we have, Herba?"
His voice was firm, though his heart pounded.
Herba's eyes darted around the room, as if expecting the walls themselves to whisper answers.
"Days at best," he said, his voice dropping to a hushed urgency.
"The veins are spreading already. You know what must be done, my friend. He's a respected man, but you have to end this before it's too late."
He took slow, deliberate steps toward Devon, his gaze intense.
Silas flinched, his weathered face twisting in confusion. "Young Lord Devon, what's this talk of death?" His voice carried a sharp edge, protective and wary.
Devon's mind raced. 'I've got to keep this old man quiet.'
"No one's dying," he said with authority, his tone leaving no room for argument.
He shot Herba a pointed look, silently urging him to hold his tongue. "Chief Tanister will be fine."
But Herba didn't catch the hint. He reached for Devon's arm, his grip surprisingly strong. "My friend," he whispered, his voice barely audible, "he has to die." He retreated a step, his eyes glinting with conviction. "This is the fate of anyone who journeys now to the Royal Palace of Tandor,
Silas shuffled closer, his beard swaying as he spoke. "You're saying Chief Tanister went to Tandor?" His tone was skeptical, almost accusatory.
"Yes, that's what I said," Herba replied, his voice firm but tinged with uncertainty.
Silas shook his head. "I'll have you know, Chief Tanister never set foot in Tandor.
All our travels as chiefs are documented and shared with the round table. For security, he's always accompanied.
His last trip was to Pine Forest, a small farming village in Traventis lands."
Devon exhaled, relief washing over him like a cool breeze. "See, Herba? Tanister is not fated to be a demon."
Herba's expression remained grim.
"Maybe not today, but it will happen. Lock him up here, and make sure no one sees him without supervision. We can't risk the infection spreading."
"He will be kept indoors." Devon says.
"With symptoms like that he should have roughly 11 Days before he fully becomes a walking abomination."
Herba stomped his scepter on the floor, the sound sharp in the quiet room. "And remember, my friend," he said, his voice low and ominous, "there are no warning signs before it happens."
They left the room, the door creaking shut behind them.
"Let's wait ten days," Devon said, his voice heavy with resolve.
***
As evening fell, the clear skies darkened, heavy clouds rolling in like a foreboding curtain.
A stardand room was arranged for Devon in the legislative house, its stone walls and high ceilings lending a sense of cold grandeur.
Herba, however, refused to stay in a building despite the offer, he could not bring himself to stay under the same roof as a "brewing demon." Instead, he sought out the most luxurious inn in town, as he had enough money to live lavishly even for 6 mothhis black-cloaked guards trailing behind him.
"You'll be fine here for now," Devon said, dismounting his horse as they reached the inn.
The air was thick with the promise of rain, and the faint clatter of wooden shutters rattled in the distance.
Herba stepped down from his carriage, his scepter gleaming under the inn's warm lantern light.
He gave Devon a peculiar look, one eyebrow arched. "My friend, you're an honorable man," he said, his tone almost theatrical.
"But if that sick chief turns into a horned monster, he'll need to be put down.
I came seeking your help, and fate has brought the danger to your doorstep. And this is only the beginning."
With that, he swept through the inn's door, his guards following like shadows.
Devon lingered, the faint sound of rattling wood and steady breathing catching his attention.
Was it the wind, or something else? He shook his head, mounting his horse and riding back to the legislative house as rain began to fall, heavy and unrelenting.
The drops stung his face, soaking through his cloak as thunder rumbled in the distance.
Less than an hour after he settled into his room, a sharp knock at the door startled him.
He opened it to find a woman standing there, drenched from the storm. Her red hair clung to her face, neck and milky skin. and low cut red gown, tailored with exquisite precision hugged her slim figure.
Devon was stunned.
The gown revealed her bulging breasts, her left breast areola escaped from the gown, she seemed ignorant of it because she stood there, eyes foward only focusing on Devon's handsome face.
Her chest heaved as if she'd been running, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. Despite the rain, her presence was striking, almost regal.
The system chimed in his mind.
[Subject identified as Olive.]
"Please, good sir Devon." she said, her voice soft but urgent, her green eyes locking onto his. "My Horace slipped on a slippery surface, and the rain caught up with me, I was glad your light was still on, would you mind letting me dry off by your fire ?"
Devon's breath caught, struck by her beauty, his mind registered the pink areolas even if he didn't stare anymore. The rain roared outside, and the air between them crackled with unspoken tension.
She was a stranger, but the system had a record on her. He stepped aside, his mind racing wondering what this encounter holds next.