CH1052 · Rewrite
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Chapter 1052: Protective Measures

“Ha.” Rother said it low, almost to herself.

“What?” Sean looked at her. “What does that mean?”

“I’ll explain it to you common people.” The God’s Punishment Witch grinned and walked to one of the mottled columns, sweeping the dust from it with her palm. “The ruins of the underground civilization appear in many places across the mainland. Taquila spent a great deal of time studying them.” She studied the carved symbols. “But these are not their characters. They have nothing to do with the magic script the Union made. Think of what that means, given the history of the four kingdoms.”

Azima understood each word individually. Together they formed a shape she couldn’t quite grasp — though she felt some relief to see the same blankness on Marl’s face, and on Knaff’s.

Sean wore a thinking look.

“His Majesty once said that the four kingdoms were only scattered villages and small towns in the past — a small corner of the mainland, with no real history behind them. If this ruin wasn’t left by the underground civilization, then it means…” He paused. “There were people living here that we never knew about?”

“We can’t be certain.” Rother’s eyes brightened with the particular light of someone who finds a puzzle genuinely interesting. “No one knows whether the underground civilization could have branched into unknown tribes with their own languages. We have to go inside.”

“Lord Sean.” One of the soldiers, who had been examining the stone gate, called out. “There’s a tablet here. The words are in our script.”

Everyone moved toward it.

A block of granite lay half-hidden in the weeds, moss thick over every surface — except one side, which had been ground smooth by human hands, though so long ago that it was easy to miss entirely. The soldiers cleared it carefully. The words emerged letter by letter from under the growth.

This is a place cursed by Gods. You will die if you enter.

Knaff’s breath went out of him in a gasp.

“Is this the — the Temple of the Cursed?” He backed away. “I’ve heard of it. Just in the tavern, from other people, but—”

Sean and Rother exchanged a glance. “You know what this place is?”

“Only what the stories say.” Knaff’s eyes had not left the dark opening of the gate. “More than a century ago. A lord had his men setting the traps through the mountain, and a knight’s team was caught in heavy rain. Mountain rain comes fast and leaves fast, so they sheltered where they could find it, and they found — this.” He swallowed. “They said there were treasures inside. The knight took some. Later, the villagers who followed him — they all died. Slowly. One by one, over ten years. Even the knight. Their faces…” He cringed. “The skin peeled away. Left the flesh exposed. The lord had to forbid anyone from entering after that, to stop the curse from spreading.”

“Their faces rotted.” Rother arched an eyebrow. She walked over and set her arm on Knaff’s shoulder — the arm that was broader than his thigh. “And they died over ten years?”

Knaff went pale. “That’s what the tavern stories said. I swear every word of it. Ask anyone else if you doubt me — the stories come from somewhere.”

Rother released him, stepping away.

Azima considered this. If the deaths had come ten years later, the lord could not easily have arranged them — not the knight’s, certainly. A nobleman couldn’t simply be executed without cause, no matter how minor his family. And if the lord and knight had conspired to kill the villagers, they wouldn’t have needed to wait ten years.

Could it actually be a curse?

“Perhaps we should return to the town,” Marl suggested, “gather more information before deciding—”

“You said ‘perhaps we should’,” Rother observed pleasantly, “but that’s your decision to make. I’ve already made mine.” She turned to the dark gate. “Witch hunters and Judgement Warriors used to think they could kill us with curses too. I’d like to see what deities have arranged here.”

Sean stepped forward. “Not yet.” He raised a hand. “We don’t go in without precautions. His Majesty warned me.”

Rother tilted her head. “He foresaw this?”

“He described two possibilities.” Sean glanced back at Azima, then at the stone gate. “Either the source would be exposed on the surface — in which case we seal the site and report directly to Neverwinter. Or it would be underground, in a cave or something like one. The deeper, the more dangerous. He made me promise we would take measures.” He snapped his fingers.

Two soldiers unslung their packs and pulled out five white coats.

Rother crouched and spread one open on the ground, examining it. “These are just leather coats.”

“Not on their own.” Sean took one and stepped into it. The garment had no buttons, no separate pieces — a single sealed sleeve of treated leather shaped roughly like a person. He pulled it over himself in one smooth motion. When he straightened, only his face showed. Then he lifted a transparent mask fitted with a canister at the nose, pig-shaped and about the size of a fist, and settled it over his face.

His voice came out slightly flat through the material. “Five go in. The rest stay here.” He looked at Azima, then at Rother. “Besides the two of you — who else?”

Knaff had already drifted, without appearing to notice, several steps closer to the trees.

Marl Tokat cleared his throat and suggested they remain outside to coordinate with the soldiers.

“I won’t need one,” said Rother.

Sean frowned. “Are you certain?”

“God’s Punishment Warriors resist general plagues and poisons far better than common people can. Whatever killed those villagers a century ago clearly left a ten-year margin even for the unprotected. I don’t think it threatens our bodies.” She shrugged. “And the coat would slow me down. Dull my hearing. In an unknown space, that matters far more than whatever protection the leather provides. Keep the extra one for the soldiers outside — if something happens that requires a rescue, they’ll need it.”

It was a convincing argument. The God’s Punishment Warriors had trained their senses for centuries beyond common thresholds — Rother had estimated soil softness from footfall sounds during the climb up. A sealed suit would blindfold her in ways that had nothing to do with her eyes.

“But what if the curse is real?” Azima heard herself ask. “What if this was actually made by—”

Rother’s laugh cut her off — the same sharp, bright sound she’d made at the tablet. “Let’s set aside whether leather coats stop divine curses. Even if there are gods inside, I have no fear of them. Whatever they’ve arranged here — it would be hard to be worse than the millions of people who died on the Fertile Plains.”

A silence followed.

“We move,” said Sean.

Azima breathed in. She followed the king’s guard through the stone gate and into the dark.

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