《Tales of Tender Rust》


 Blooming, in the eye of the beholder

    Madru: Blooming


    There sat a lone woman on her knees, deep amidst the woods. Surrounded by mycelial red threads and blooming yellow fungus, she gazed upon the small village that had raised her. Lost deep in prayer, she repeatedly begged for salvation. From drought, from starvation, from beasts, from familial disputes - the woman begged to the empty heavens above. For three days and three nights, the young woman sat under a dead tree and prayed without end.


    In front of her was the great tree of the divine Lady Coedraig. Last winter, the frost had torn through its bark. Now it could only rot away, and take the villagers¡¯ hopes and dreams with it. Their goddess had abandoned them, being replaced by this sickening growth that had afflicted the tree. Once, Lady Coedraig would bear many fruits and give the local druids advice on how to weather the oncoming tribulations. Now, she was silent.


    Lady Coedraig was the protector of all the woods. Without her, the village would surely die. With the villagers¡¯ prayers falling on deaf ears, there was little that could be done to stave off the coming winter. The harvests had failed due to a terrible drought. Animals had to be sacrificed early because the people were malnourished, and subsequently eaten before the winter arrived. Wild boars had settled in the nearby forests, chasing away much of the previous prey and replacing it with dangerous swarms of aggressive beasts. Plague had spread among the villagers, causing many to grow too ill to work the fields to begin with. It was a hopeless situation.


    But the woman in front of Coedraig¡¯s decaying remains did not give up. She would not concede to the death of her goddess. Instead, she prayed to any deity who could hear her; any at all. But even that had fallen on deaf ears. She had been praying for three days and three nights, and the hunger had won at last. The woman could do naught but cry. Clutching her prayer book in her arms, she fell on the dead, dried grass and wept for hours. Alas, the hunger soon subsumed her sorrow.


    In a desperate attempt to survive, her instincts kicked in. She would eat anything that looked palatable. Even if it was poisonous, like a mushroom. One dripping with fungal honey. A dangerous substance, but one that would sate her, surely. Just for a little while. So that she could make the journey home, and inform the druids of her failure.


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    ¡°Oh Lady Coedraig, please hear my prayers. Don¡¯t let me die here.¡±


    <hr>


    Leonard: In the eye of the beholder


    The surrounding forests have grown dull and dry as of late. Lifeless, white-yellow grass dominates the landscape, its usual hue having been drained by an overgrowth of red mycelium threads. Corpses of young animals lie scattered about, being pecked at by the occasional infected raven. A chorus of beetle wings droned through the air, as if one was constantly stalked by hovering insects. The air was stagnant and pungent, overwhelming any who dared trespass upon this accursed soil. Trees were decaying, covered by a blanket of fungus. Most of the knights of Coedraig left long ago, not wanting to share in the infection of the druidic fools. The roads were quiet, the merchants avoided our homeland. We were slowly dying from within.


    Tender Rust has conquered these lands, made it their own. Nature is actively receding from this threat - and nobody is doing anything about it. The people who still remain in the village worship a false idol, a lady carrying the goddesses¡¯ name. In any other age, it would have been considered blasphemy. The druids, desperate for relief from the droughts and the suffering, accepted this imposter into our midst and fell at her feet the moment she offered a solution. Why can¡¯t they see that she is not the same benevolent goddess we all came to worship? Their minds have been poisoned by this idol¡¯s words. She is a danger to us all.


    Most of Coedraig¡¯s previous knights defected. Many scattered to surrounding lands thereafter, in search of a new life, but a small band of people remained in order to fight the encroachment of this fungal blight upon the land. We cut down vegetation and escort packs of animals outside of its tendrils, all while scorching the land and ensuring that its cursed dew cannot reach us. Unlike normal mushrooms, Tender Rust mimics the shape of a flower. Additionally, it seems to reproduce via a viscous liquid known as ¡°fungal honey¡±, a sweet, crimson-coloured secretion that contains its spores. This combination of features makes it highly transmissible between animals and people - an infected individual can pass it along with just a drop of their sweat. This land will become a living hell if nobody intervenes.


    If only we didn¡¯t send that girl out into the woods, we would¡¯ve never had to suffer such dishonor.

 Reborn, no matter how many times

    Madru: Reborn


    She approached the village slowly. Her feet refused to move the way I wanted them to. Her body struggled and resisted, fighting against the threads that had wrapped themselves around her limbs. It was an agonizing journey, for the body was malnourished and dehydrated. It was a struggle to wrestle control over it, as even the muscles had begun to decay to conserve energy. For three days and three nights, she sat in front of that tree. Finally, I answered her pleas.


    There was a person standing far off in the distance. With what little power I had, I mustered her mouth to open. Something of a noise came from her dry throat, barely audible over the trees being rustled by the wind. However, it was just enough to work.


    ¡°Oh heavens, it¡¯s Fals! Fals, what happened to you?¡±


    ¡°aaaa¡­.¡± I struggled to respond. Between getting used to this new body, and the sickness that plagued it, there was so little I could do. I felt so weak. As I lost focus on controlling her body, her legs gave in and I fell to the ground. The knight ran over to me, dropping her weapon on the ground where she stood. Her heavy, plated armor clanged against itself. Before I could raise my head, she sat down beside me, trying to fetch me off the ground.


    With a concerned tone, she addresses me once more: ¡°Fals, your eye! We need to get you to the druids, now!¡± There was an audible panic in her voice. She must have some connection to this vessel, then. If only I could access her memories.


    ¡°N-no¡­¡± I muttered, straining her throat as much as possible. Get it together, girl. I need you to hold in there just a little longer. I can repair you.


    The knight interrupts me. ¡°Fals, we all thought you died out there! You look awful, we need to get you treated. Come on, get up. You can lean on me. It¡¯s going to be okay.¡±


    Realizing that this knight is my best chance at reaching the village, I let her hold me in her arms. She drags me, with all her strength, across the road. Step by step, slowly running out of breath. Yet, even as she carries me, I can still hear sniffing and crying beneath all that armor. Just who was this girl, before she offered her body up to me?


    Before long, we made it to a small wooden building. The house seems to have been made from a hollowed out tree stump, and most of its facilities are rudimentary and poor. The doors barely held together, the floor was dirty and covered in soil, and the beds were rough and coarse. Not that I could complain, of course.


    The knight quickly fetched me a carafe of water. WIth trembling hands, she nearly pours it over my face. I grab the carafe, and take a few slow sips from it. ¡°You need to drink. You¡¯re probably starving, too. Let me fetch you some of the food I have in reserve¡­ I¡¯m so sorry, Fals, I knew I should¡¯ve come along. I told you, but you¡¯re so damn stubborn¡­¡±


    Finally, with my thirst quenched, I feel a little strength returning to my body. The truth is, though, that food won¡¯t help me right now. Not yet, at least. If I¡¯m going to eat, I need more time to take control over my host¡¯s organs. And besides, I¡¯ve come here with a goal, a mission. A purpose I need to fulfill, no matter what.


    For the first time since I possessed this vessel, I managed to utter a full sentence: ¡°I am not Fals. Not anymore.¡± The body resists. It trembles. Even in death, the very idea of me saying that absolutely abhors her. The knight looks at me, stunned. She scans my face for something, as if trying to read my expression. I force something of a smile on my face, before continuing.


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    ¡°My name is Lady Coedraig. I have come to save your village.¡±


    She nearly drops the plate she¡¯s holding. She staggers, a little. ¡°Fals,¡± she starts, shaking in her boots. This time, there is anger in her voice. It is palpable. ¡°Don¡¯t mess around like that. This isn¡¯t funny.¡±


    Extending my hand to her, I show her the mycelium threads growing on the body. Red, tiny threads, each running just beneath the skin. Then, I point towards the fungal bloom in my eye, leaking with honey.


    ¡°A young girl passed at the roots of the great tree. I took control of her, so that I might yet save you.¡± Still, the girl in front of me stands frozen. She stands in shock, completely paralyzed. After what seems like an eternity, she speaks.


    ¡°What did you do to Fals?¡± Again, those tears welling up in her eyes. She¡¯s fragile, and emotional. For a knight so heavily clad in armor, she¡¯s weak and brittle on the inside. Reaching for the girl¡¯s prayer book in my robes, I lay it down on the bed beside me. It is covered in mud and mildew, with a barely visible crest drawn upon its cover. It is faded, well-used, and worn.


    ¡°I could not save her. But I can fulfill her wish, if you''ll hear me out.¡±


    <hr>


    Leonard: No matter how many times.


    The wet mud beneath my boots splatters across the ground. The smell of burning flesh and singed fur invaded my nostrils, nearly making me gag. I can never get used to this damned scent, no matter how many times it happens.


    A group of wild hogs had run through the territory of the Tender Rust. Corralled there by a pack of wolves, they fled deep into its red-tinted woods. There, they contracted the disease and grew more aggressive. More sensitive to stimuli, too. The animals had gone into heat, after a brief incubation period. Then, running amok, they had returned to the edge of the forest to fight for territory.


    We had to put them down. Every single one of them. We couldn¡¯t risk them spreading the disease any farther than it already has. Unfortunately, one of our men was gravely wounded in the battle against these hogs, and took his own life. During the night, we could hear the cheers and celebrations coming from the village in the valley down below, while we were preparing our funerary rites. Savages. They don¡¯t know what kind of problems they¡¯ve caused for all of us.


    One of my soldiers approaches me with a crestfallen look on his face. ¡°Sir¡±, he says, in a downcast tone. ¡°We¡¯ve counted our rations. We have approximately enough for five days, as per schedule.¡±


    ¡°Why are you so gloomy, Edward?¡± I ask him sternly. I would rather not show undue sympathy to our men, lest we all fall into the trap of forever mourning our fallen comrades. We are fighting for a good, but dangerous, cause. We all knew that once we set up here at the border. We don¡¯t have time to sit and dally.


    ¡°Sorry, sir. It¡¯s just¡­ A letter came in from his wife. He hadn¡¯t gotten the time to finish his reply before the hogs attacked. And now¡­¡±


    I nod to the soldier. ¡°I shall see that the letter in its current state is delivered to his home, and that his wife be informed of his untimely, and unfortunate, death.¡± It¡¯s true that Edward always kept in close contact with his wife abroad, even when we were still stationed in the village below. She must be worried sick if she doesn¡¯t get a properly timed reply. It is my responsibility to handle these sorts of things for our soldiers.


    What a mess this all is. All for a witch, a walking corpse. Had it been up to me, I would¡¯ve run her on the burning stake first thing. Of course, the druids were never going to allow such violence. It angers me still, the way they pulled me apart and told me to stand down. Look what you¡¯ve done, you damned fools.


    Rain begins to fall. The water masks the scent of the pyre a little bit, but does little to raise our spirits. We remain stationed at the border, awaiting another day of trouble. As long as those festivities down there last, the forest will know no rest.

 Deceit

    The young knight sits before me. Her name, as I understand it, is Madarchen. Understandably, she is skeptical of my claims. Understandably, she is upset with me, parading around her friend¡¯s corpse. I need to convince her, somehow, that I am speaking the truth. However, with her in this state¡­


    Madarchen is kneeling on the ground, crying into her palms. She can barely contain herself. I get up from the bed, weak as I am, and kneel beside her. Taking her into my embrace, I allow her to cry some more. ¡°I don¡¯t believe it¡­¡± she mutters. Her hands are clasped around mine; her touch is warm and faint. I can barely feel anything at all, with my body in this state. My skin is pale, my vision is blurry. My muscles barely function, only moving due to the support that my mycelium threads give. To her, I must truly feel like a corpse. I don¡¯t even think I have a heartbeat, as I am now.


    ¡°I offer you my deepest sympathies, Madarchen. I can sense that Fals meant a lot to you. But I can¡¯t bring her back. Her soul has already moved on.¡± Although it was still a struggle to speak, my tendrils had finally wrapped themselves around the nerves of her throat. Speaking would become easier, now.


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t even¡­ You don¡¯t even know how much she meant to me. To see you speak using her face¡­ It upsets me greatly. It nauseates me. But everything about you is so different from her, at the same time. I don¡¯t recognise a hint of her in the way you speak, or move.¡±


    I wouldn¡¯t dare presume on her behalf, but she¡¯s not exactly subtle about it either. They must¡¯ve been lovers, to some extent. Perhaps that is why I feel this painful pronging in the back of my mind whenever I see her. My host, Fals, although dead, must still be influencing me in some ways. I wonder how much of my current thought process is influenced by her, actually.


    ¡°She laid down her life in prayer. I heard her, and attempted to reach out to her in any way I could. Alas, I was too late. I could only commune with her body, long after she had gone cold.¡±


    Madarchen makes eye contact with me. She seems to be searching for something within my eyes. A spark, or a shred of familiarity. I meet her gaze with my own, unflinching. If anyone would believe me, it¡¯d be her. If I must convince people that I am Lady Coedraig, it has to start with her.


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    ¡°So¡­ what happens now?¡± she asks, scraping herself together. I guide her hand towards my face, and she softly places it on my left cheek. I pry her fingers off my face, and place them over the fungal bloom within my eye. She feels it out, briefly, before pulling her hand back. It¡¯s covered in a deep crimson liquid, viscous and sticky. She seems startled by it for a little bit.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, it¡¯s not blood. This is why I have come down to the village. This¡­ substance. It¡¯s a cure for your plague. For your illness. And, more importantly, for your hunger. Consider this¡­ my blossom. My fruits, if you will. Go on, taste it.¡±


    Madarchen hesitantly looks at the fungal honey clinging to her fingers. Anyone would be grossed out by the thought of it. She smells it, briefly. Her facial expression relaxes a little, and she carefully touches some of the honey with the tip of her tongue. She feels it out, swirling it around her mouth carefully, before licking up the rest of it slowly.


    Very good. If I can get one of them to eat it, that means I can convince more people. How lucky I must be to have stumbled upon her so soon. Madarchen blushes a little, strangely enough.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­ this makes me feel very warm, being so close to you again. Even though you are nothing like her, I¡­ miss her so much.¡± Madarchen reaches out for my fungal bloom again. For a second time, she takes some fungal honey and eats it. Quickly, this time. ¡°This stuff is.. delicious. It tastes just like the fruits you once bore, Lady Coedraig.¡±


    Then, a third. And a fourth. I let her indulge in her passions. WIth each dosage of the fungal honey, she becomes more and more excitable. Alert, warm. Her heart is beating faster, her breath is heavier. She seems to be suffering some other, unintentional effect from the honey as well. With every passing second, she gets touchier. Closer.


    I push her away a little. ¡°Madarchen,¡± I exclaim. ¡°You can¡¯t.¡± It would be bad to get tangled up in her emotions now. Especially when she¡¯s so vulnerable.


    I can¡¯t say I feel good about using her in this way. But I need to proliferate somehow, in some way. My appetite is too large for one measly tree.

 Burn it all away

    It¡¯s only been six months since the witch took up residence in our village. Six months since she beguiled our hometown, and charmed them with that accursed fungus. It drove us, and many others, out of our homes. The sick were cured of their condition, and our starvation came to an end, but at what cost? We were forced to eat living bugs and decaying birds under her reign, all while she got to enjoy the luxury offerings made in the name of Lady Coedraig.


    After lining another section of the grass up with dried wood, I send a sign to our torchbearers. One by one, they set the long wall ablaze. The fire spreads quickly, jumping to each neighboring pyre by the wind¡¯s guidance. The fungal blooms in the fields immediately begin to wither and die, their roots being scorched away by the blowing embers. Some of our soldiers toss in the final boar corpses into the midst, once the fire has caught on. We managed to salvage some of the lesser afflicted boars for meat and bone; the adult males, however, were less lucky. They had fungal blooms growing from their mouths and ears, sprouting from them like a seedbed. They were likely on their last legs even before they ran rampant in the woods.


    Finally, after all of the animals had been rid of, we held a small funeral for the fallen soldier. After mourning him proper, we made sure to cleanse his armaments in the flames, and branded his name on the side of the blade. Amidst his personal belongings, we found an old talisman of Coedraig. A fruits-shaped crest, adorned with swirling patterns and held aloft by a small chain. It smelled strongly of perfume. Surprisingly, we also found a dusty glass bottle of fungal honey. Although it hadn¡¯t been consumed, he had apparently held on to a dosage of it all this time. Perhaps it was to remind him of what he was fighting against, or perhaps he kept it around to survive in an emergency. Either way, he took his own life once he realized that he had been affected. It must¡¯ve been a benign, special reason.


    The village down below had settled and ceased their festivities. Flocks of ravens swarmed the sky, each looking for new prey to feast upon. The ravens were often attracted to the corpses left behind in the wake of the Tender Rust. It was crucial that they be disposed of fully, lest the ravens spread the afflicted even farther. It cannot be allowed to go out of control.


    I go out for my daily patrol, seeking out new signs of life within the woods. Although the fungal infection consumed a lot of life, it also gave rise to a lot of new life. Bugs, in particular. Large beetles became commonplace in the region after the fungal infection, and are primarily responsible for its large rate of transmission. They are also capable of feeding on the fungus, which increases their reproductive rates. The fungus, in turn, sprouts from their bodies upon death. If they¡¯re lucky. Strangely, the bugs never seem to stray too far away from the fungal areas. It¡¯s like they¡¯re mesmerized by it.


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    I¡¯m ripped away from my thoughts as I hear the noise of something rustling in the underbrush. Before long, I spotted my quarry: a large reindeer. Too large for me to fight alone. Or at close range, for that matter. Its weight would crush me in an instant. Upon closer inspection, both its eyes seem to have been replaced with fungal blooms. Several species of insects swarm around its head, attempting to pick at the honeyed substance resting on its flesh. It shakes its head in agitation, clearly enraged by the sensation.


    If I can just get close enough, I might be able to put it out of its misery quickly. With it being blind, it won¡¯t see me coming. The sound of the insects will probably mask any footsteps. Calling my men over, however, will be sure to scare it away. I¡¯ll have to take the risk. The risk is great. But¡­ I have to try. If we lose track of it now, it¡¯ll surely be feasted upon by countless creatures. Who knows where it¡¯ll run off to.


    I unsheathe my sword quietly, making sure not to alert the beast. Reaching for a small flask on my hip, I coat the weapon¡¯s blade in an oily, flammable substance. Although I can¡¯t set my sword ablaze before I¡¯ve taken down the beast, I can quickly light a fire to cauterize any potential wounds before the infection spreads, in the event that it turns on me. In this way, I¡¯ve saved myself a dozen times from animal attacks. It¡¯s a tactic not all of my men dare use. To burn one¡¯s flesh, to chop off a finger. I would give my all, to cease the encroaching curse.


    With surprising ease, I sneak up on the beast and stab it in - what I assumed to be - a fatal spot of its neck. Unfortunately, it buckles, and screams. It turns to me with its large antlers, and uses all its weight to push me over. I twist the blade and drive it deeper, but its muscles are too tough to be pierced. The reindeer kicks with its hooves, striking me straight on the shin. The armor dents and I can feel its sharp edge scrape against my leg. Taking out a small dagger, I manage to strike its neck a second time - this time in a softer, weaker spot. It screams again, but stumbles and falls next to me. It struggles and squirms, a torrent of blood covering my face. As the reindeer comes to a halt, I bask in the adrenaline. The gravity of the situation slowly begins to dawn on me. Involuntarily, my body erupts into laughter.


    You will die for your hubris, old fool.

 The Witch, Madru

    A large raven perches on my arm. In its beak, it carries a wonderfully large bloom of Tender Rust. I pluck it from its grasp, and tear off one of the faux-leaves on the mushroom, slowly feeding it to the raven. I gently grasp a beetle from within the bud, and the raven takes it out of my hands without a second thought. Squeezing the stigma, the part that secretes the fungal honey, I gather about a glass¡¯s worth of the red liquid, before sealing it in a glass bottle. I store it in my basket, and continue strolling through the forest.


    Madarchen, too, has followed me today. The two of us have devised a plan to stop the hunger within the village. By presenting the druids of the village with a large offering of mushrooms, we can convince them of the efficacy and nutritional value of these special mushrooms. So far, they¡¯ve only ever grown around the divine, withered tree of Coedraig. This imbued them with a sacred energy, which cannot normally be found in nature. The buds of the mushrooms resemble the very same fruits that the tree once produced. It is no wonder they are so nutritional, and sweet. By cultivating this mushroom, we can expand its scope, and thus the amount of food it can provide us.


    And it is oh so addictive. Ever since I¡¯ve given Madarchen her first dosage, she can¡¯t seem to get enough of the stuff. Even now, she¡¯s approaching me with a glint in her eyes. ¡°Can I have that bottle of yours? I¡¯m awfully hungry.¡±


    I snicker a little while handing the bottle over. Without hesitation, she gulps the bottle down in one go, gasping for air after. Her pupils immediately widen, and her face flushes again. With renewed excitement, she plucks mushroom by mushroom, putting them in her own basket. Hers is almost overflowing at this point, while mine is only half full. My body is still so slow. The ravens have done most of the work for me, in exchange for some of the beetles that crawl underneath their blooming buds. They are loyal pets.


    The raven on my arm takes off again, circling the tree of Coedraig with great vigilance. Recently, there has been an abundance of bugs inside of the rotten tree. This is, of course, great news for the many birds, who feast on the bugs themselves. In turn, when the birds die, they sprout buds of Tender Rust in the area again, thus continuing the cycle of death and rebirth.


    The area within a mile of the tree has already turned red with its mycelial threads, having grown so quickly over the course of a week. I, myself, am able to commune with this network, of course. Doing so informs me of its spread, size, in- and outgoing nutrition, as well as the presence of various creatures in the area.


    It¡¯s taken a while to get used to this body. Fals, having died, has barely any functioning organs. I was afraid her body might begin to rot, but I have forestalled that issue by using the fungal honey as a temporary solution. It rids oneself of disease when alive, and forestalls decay in death. It¡¯s a wondrous medicine.


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    However, I find myself exhausted now. Barely able to walk, and certainly not able to carry this many mushrooms. It takes a lot of energy to control this body, exacerbated by the fungal bloom in my eye constantly desiring food. Madarchen hurries over to me, and we make our way to her cabin together. She lives on the very edge of the village, being stationed as a sort of border patrol and forest guard. She lived together with Fals for about a year, before the girl insisted on heading to the divine tree and praying for salvation from the plague and food shortages.


    This is the third time she¡¯s had to carry me back to her cabin from the tree today. ¡°Madarchen¡­ thank you. I don¡¯t know where I¡¯d be without you.¡±


    ¡°It would be blasphemous to dismiss the needs of our goddess, Lady Coedraig. The honor is mine.¡±


    What a loathsome, long name. I¡¯ve told her to cut out the ¡°My Lady¡± part so many times already. ¡°You don¡¯t need to keep referring to me as ¡°Lady¡±, you know. I¡¯d prefer if you called me Madru, just between us two.¡± Yes, Madru. The name I had before I took on the mantle of Lady Coedraig.


    ¡°Nonsense. I wouldn¡¯t want to give the druids the wrong impression. Besides, I''ve told you the name Madru doesn¡¯t suit you.¡± She giggles. What surprises me is how well she¡¯s taken to the death of her lover. I was under the impression it would take longer for her to mourn her fallen partner, but it only took a day or two before she scraped herself together. A part of me thinks it has to do with the fungal honey she¡¯s been gleefully consuming. She get so¡­ excited, when she¡¯s had a dose or two. The effects it has on her are not entirely clear to me.


    Tomorrow, we will head to the village proper to confront them with the solution to their problems.


    Tender Rust. A tentative name, given by the druids. A fungus that spawned from Coedraig¡¯s divine tree, and spread across the land quickly. According to Madarchen, many have called it a bad omen. It is our duty to reassure them that it¡¯s safe, above all. We need to convince them of its medicinal effects and its value as a source of food. Its rate of growth is quick, it attracts many other animals as well. It has a place in this ecosystem. Or, maybe, the next.


    Yes, death and rebirth. The ravens flying overhead are a portent of that future. They are such loyal pets, pecking away at the critters crawling upon my flesh. They caw, and they follow, unaware of the infection that bubbles inside of them.


    Another raven drops dead beside us. In its eyes, a blanket of red threads. Its wings sprout yellow flowers. Madarchen is visibly creeped out by its visage, but I reassure her, even as the beetles already begin crawling over its rapidly-decaying corpse.


    This is necessary for us to survive. You and I both, sweetling.

 Newfound Destiny

    The wound on my leg sizzles and burns. I scream, as loud as I can. Nothing. No miracles, no divine intervention. It¡¯s just me. The flaming sword scorches my wounds, cleansing them of their impurities. It rends the flesh and melds it shut.


    A few beads of sweat are enough to transfer the fungal disease between two individuals. A lover¡¯s kiss, a simple sneeze, or a night of passion. It¡¯s enough to infiltrate their body, putting them under the haze of the Tender Rust. Even now, I can feel its effects; that warm feeling, as if one is being held in a goddesses¡¯ embrace.


    It¡¯s too much. Between the open wound in my leg and the blood I must¡¯ve accidentally swallowed, this damned creature got the better of me. I knew I shouldn¡¯t have gone in alone. It¡¯ll only be a matter of minutes before the fungus attaches itself to my body, and the infection becomes irreversible. The only course for someone like me would be death. An honorable end to our long service against the Rust.


    Placing the blade against my neck, the flames begin to singe my flesh. The skin prickles and flays, the scruff on my chin burns up in an instant. The sharp edge makes contact with my neck, and a drop of blood sizzles against the hot steel. This should¡¯ve been the end.


    But I¡¯m not ready yet. Honour be damned, I have a promise to fulfill to my men. We will get through this. We will. I withdraw the blade from my neck. It leaves a painful mark where my flesh was tinged, probably blackened and bloodied.


    No. I will finish this myself. I will walk through the gates of that village, and slaughter every one of them for what they¡¯ve done to us.


    I will kill that witch. I clutch the charm of Lady Coedraig hanging around my neck, and send a prayer in her name. It¡¯s about time I show them what I¡¯m made of. For my Lady, for our Goddess. So that her memory may not be tainted.


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    Pushing myself back on my feet, I realize that my injured leg struggles to support me. Instead, I lean on my sword, using it as a cane, and limp deeper into the woods. If I go far enough north from here, I should be able to find the village. If I can get there before the infection spreads too far, I can still fulfill my duty. I promised them I¡¯d get us through this safely.


    Before long, I make it to a clearing. I unpack some of the supplies I had taken for my patrol. Three days worth of rations. A casket of water, enough to last me another five if I ration it well. A blanket, for the cold. Some bandages, and more of that flammable oil. Not exactly a survival kit, but enough for what I¡¯m about to do. I grab one of the rations, and slowly begin eating it. It attracts the attention of the various insects in the region, which I have to fight for my food. Swatting them away all while trying to consume a hardened piece of bread. At some point, one of them gets in between my teeth. Its hard shell feels unpleasantly tough, and it squirms a final time before I bring down my teeth upon it again. I¡¯ve gotten rather used to the sensation of eating bugs, but it never ceases to make me gag.


    As if the world itself chose to spite me, a raven lands in front of me. It pecks at some of the bugs, which scatter and fly away the moment they see the large bird land on my outstretched leg. Its claws nearly pierce into my exposed flesh. This aggressive bird must be used to human contact. It peers into my eyes, cocking its head. Its beak is covered in fungal honey. Must¡¯ve been drinking the damn stuff, or had it fed to it. Actually, weren¡¯t all these mushrooms edible? Now that I¡¯m thinking about it, I no longer need to worry about getting infected. I could eat this stuff, and survive just for a few days longer. Long enough to hold out, at least. I¡¯ve heard the fungal honey can also help forestall the rate at which the infection claims your life. Maybe, just maybe¡­


    What am I thinking? I can¡¯t reduce myself to their level. I mustn¡¯t. I¡¯m not that desperate yet. I¡¯m stronger than them.


    I must prove it to them.

 Breach of Trust

    ¡°Prove it to us,¡± the druid said. ¡°Prove to us that your cure works the way you say it does.¡± A stern, bespectacled man sat opposite of me. Pensively, he tapped the table. ¡°I struggle to believe that Fals is dead. Such a young, kindred spirit. That much, I can understand. However, that our Goddess would inhabit her body? Using poisonous mushrooms as food? How do you expect us to believe this?¡±


    I point at the glass bottle on the desk. ¡°The mushroom is only poisonous if one doesn¡¯t consume its honey. The fungal honey breaks down the poison. On its own, it¡¯s also very nutritious.¡± To exemplify my point, I fetch a small beetle from my pouch. ¡°These little ones thrive within the mushroom fields. If they can survive, so can we.¡± I let it crawl over my glove shortly, before crushing it between my fingers. The druid looks on in shock, then sighs.


    ¡°Would Lady Coedraig truly...¡± Flicking his gaze between Madarchen and I, he rests his eyes on me again. ¡°Would she truly command us to eat bugs and fungus? She was so benevolent, granting us her fruits and her protection.¡±


    Madarchen takes the lead for this one, surprisingly. ¡°Times have changed, elder. Our supplies have run so low. Our hunters keep being injured, and our forests have dried up. What choice do we have but believe her? I¡¯ve followed her example for the past week, and she hasn¡¯t lied. The fungal honey cured me of my pains, eased my sorrows, and kept me well-fed. Besides¡­¡± She shifts uncomfortably. Twiddling her thumbs, she looks at me again. ¡°Fals died for us, Elder. Her prayers must¡¯ve been answered. We shouldn''t¡­"


    A rough, growling voice interrupts her speech. ¡°If you ask me, elder, they¡¯re lying. Lady Coedraig would never be so cruel as to crush an innocent life in front of us. The fact she claims to be a protector of the forest while killing its inhabitants sickens me. That¡¯s a witch, real and true, come to pillage our village.¡±


    I respond to the taunt: ¡°With all due respect, Captain Leonard, but whatever assumptions you¡¯ve made about me don¡¯t apply here. Your religious inferences and prayers aren¡¯t always in line with your God¡¯s intentions. It¡¯s just what you want to believe.¡± Leonard bites his lower lip and crosses his arms. With a frustrated grunt, he turns away from me.


    ¡°Vile wench,¡± he whispers under his breath.


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    The druid in front of us turns to face the captain. ¡°Captain Leonard, you will show due respect to the Lady. Whether or not she is truly Coedraig, the least we can do is show her some courtesy for her attempt to resolve our famine. Do not drop the brand of witch on someone at random. You¡¯ve done this before, and it didn¡¯t turn out well then either.¡±


    Leonard places his right hand on the hilt of his sheathed blade. ¡°It is clear as day that you are all charmed by her appearance. You cannot recognise the adder in the grass. Goddesses do not possess corpses, nor do they offer their faithful to eat poisonous substances. We ought to cut the head off the snake before it bares its fangs.¡±


    ¡°Enough! Enough of this, Leonard. I will not have you threaten me of all people. Get out of here. We¡¯ll speak this through later. Alone.¡± Angrily, he points towards the open door behind the two of us.


    The captain grunts. ¡°Fine.¡± He doesn¡¯t hesitate to exit the room, slamming the door shut behind him. His loud, metallic footsteps can be heard echoing through the building for a while, until another door slams and we find ourselves in an uncomfortable silence.


    ¡°My apologies for the captain¡¯s behavior, he¡¯s rather -¡±


    I interrupt him. ¡°It¡¯s fine, elder. Anyone would be sensitive with the supposed visage of their goddess sitting in front of him. I expected the tension.¡± I show a faux smile, which seems to ease his spirits a little. Madarchen places a hand on my shoulder, and picks up where we left off.


    ¡°Elder, I assure you. I¡¯ve eaten and drank from the mushrooms for a week now, and I¡¯ve never felt better. I¡¯m sure Fals wouldn¡¯t allow her body to be used for such nefarious purposes.¡±


    Fals. In the back of my mind, I feel a slight pull again. She¡¯s still kicking around, somewhere in there. The mere mention of her is enough to activate her brain, sometimes. Other times, it¡¯s in proximity to Madarchen. Maybe she¡¯s afraid. Maybe jealous, or spiteful. It¡¯s hard to tell, sometimes. It distracts me from the topic at hand, briefly. I space out a little.


    ¡°The least I can do is try the potion. We had some visitors here¡­ from a different village. They were ailing, and needed medicine their village couldn¡¯t provide. Maybe¡­ this can work.¡± The druid furrows his brow. ¡°Although I can¡¯t say I feel too good about providing medicine to someone that I¡¯ve never tested myself.¡± He pulls the cork from the glass bottle, and briefly sniffs the fungal honey.


    ¡°It¡¯s sweet,¡± he says. ¡°Very, very sweet. Enchantingly so.¡± He takes a small sip from it, then plugs the cork back. ¡°Yes, fine. We will experiment with using the fungus as food. Not like we have any other options anyway.¡±

 Insubordination

    An act of rebellion. An act of defiance. Insubordination. That¡¯s what I¡¯d call this. Breaking every code, every law we wrote once the Witch invaded our village.


    The rain splashes on my face, washing away the remnants of that reindeer¡¯s blood. I wash myself in a small puddle, although it does little more than replace the blood with mud. There is a grueling pain in my leg, leaving me nearly unable to stand. I may have fractured something when that animal kicked me.


    Getting up using my sword, I slowly stumble out of the treeline. Behind me is a large, smoking campfire. We use these to communicate with our other soldiers; in this case, I have all but guaranteed that my fellow soldiers will assume I am dead. They will not come for me. Not this deep into the woods. I need to leave this place regardless, in case they deem it wise to investigate. I will go out on my own terms.


    The fungal disease is already coursing through my veins. It will only be a matter of days until I am either enthralled, or dead. Consuming fungal honey might elongate my life, but will leave me vulnerable to the witch¡¯s charms. In other words, I have to act quickly. My target is about three days north. Once there, I will have to contest their guards, possibly with only one functioning leg.


    But I have an ace up my sleeve. I will not go down without a fight. To slow the spread of the fungal disease, I have to keep myself warm. The natural warmth of my body should counter its spread¡­ for a while. Therefore, I¡¯m keeping my thickest clothes beneath my armor.


    Ravens circle overhead. They have smelled my weakness, seen my infection firsthand. They know. And if they know, then she does too.


    I eventually manage to find myself on a well-traveled road just outside the forest. In years past, this was a popular trade route. Now, though, it¡¯s only used by the locals to forage and scavenge for animal corpses that couldn¡¯t survive the Tender Rust. It¡¯s a miracle they survived this long, living like parasites to the land.


    As I continue stumbling on the road, I see some figures in the distance. To my surprise, they seem to be traveling towards the village. Their gab suggests they came from afar - far outside this land, in search of something. A cure to their illness, no doubt. Many such travelers came through here to discover the truth about these far-reaching rumors. I wave my hand towards them, trying to get their attention. The moment they spot me, they seem to increase their pace into a light jog. The way they move towards me looks somewhat odd, as if they aren¡¯t used to running much. They must be a real novice, and yet they managed to get all the way out here. How strange.


    She looks to be in her late 20¡¯s. She¡¯s meager, almost malnourished. Her clothes are torn by the seams and have plenty of holes in them, suggesting that she¡¯s lacked the funding to equip herself for this long journey. Her eyes look weary, and tired. Her fingers are dirty and muddy, as are her bare feet. She looks ill and weak.


    ¡°I am Captain Leonard, of the border patrol. We¡¯ve had outposts along this road¡­ how did you slip past them?¡± I ask her with a gentle, calming tone. Although it is true she has seemingly snuck through the guards to get here, I can¡¯t exactly be mad at her. Rumors of a panacea would be enough to drive anyone desperate enough to such extreme actions.


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    She shuffles uncomfortably. I can¡¯t tell whether she¡¯s afraid of me or just hiding something. Her eyes shift between making eye contact with me, and looking concerned at my leg, on which I am still limping. I put the sword back in its sheath, which I¡¯ve been using as a crux until now.


    ¡°Well, now that you¡¯re here, you can at least help me out. I was attacked by something, and my leg gave out. Can you help me get seated somewhere?¡± I invite her to help me, hoping she¡¯ll feel more comfortable once she realizes I am no threat to her. Acting as my support, she guides me towards a tree stump nearby, where I finally sit down. She shares some water with me, and offers to disinfect the wound on my leg. I refuse the gesture, knowing full well she might get infected if she does. Throughout all of this, she doesn¡¯t even say as much as a word. She goes through the gestures quietly, like a ghost.


    ¡°So¡­ looking for a cure, yeah? All the way out here?¡± Attempting to break the silence seems futile. Her face flushes, and she looks away. Seems like I won¡¯t get much out of her.


    ¡°Look, lady. Whatever you may have heard, it¡¯s not worth your life out here. It¡¯s dangerous, and the rumors of this place are verifiably false. We wouldn¡¯t be keeping the border so locked up if we believed it to be true ourselves.¡± Coaxing her to leave may yield better results.


    Again and again, I try to make her talk. Each time, her response ends in silence. Silence prevails. Frustration boils over.


    Soon, I find myself weary of attempts to make her talk. Every one of them is thwarted by an oblivious, shy, or otherwise withdrawn response. Everything seems to indicate some form of fear. I withdraw from her, sequestering myself to ponder my plan for the days ahead. I can¡¯t exactly go on limping like this, can I?


    I need to make my way to the village. Once there, I will likely be forced to contend with the remaining knights, who now work for that witch. After sneaking past them or killing them, I must behead the witch. I must prove her seduction to the world at large, dispel the magic spell she has cast on them. Then, I must remove the scourge of the fungus from these lands. We must burn it all to the ground, and begin anew. Death, and rebirth. This is how Lady Coudraig would¡¯ve wanted it, if she were here.


    ¡­ At some point, I must¡¯ve fallen asleep. The weariness and the wounds having taken their toll, I closed my eyes and simply dozed off. I had the strangest dreams, visions of the scorching sun flaying my skin and boiling my blood. I was only roused from my slumber by the strangest itch. Sweating profusely, covered in scratches, blood under my nails. My skin was ruptured, and a stinging pain pulsed through my limbs.


    My sword lays unsheathed, my armor is scattered all over the place, and bugs are crawling over me. Instinctively and panickedly, I slap them away, but each one of them buzzes and flies around me. Some of them bite into my flesh and tear off pieces from my skin, devouring it. Ravens caw, flying up around me and scattering with their spoils.


    The lady is nowhere to be seen. Her camp is gone, alongside all trace sof her existence. There is an awful rumbling in my stomach. Something vile. I throw up, but all that comes out is bile and mud. The beetles and the ravens surrounding me leave my body alone, once they realise I am far from dead. My hands tremble. Beneath my skin, I see what look like strands of fungus working their way up. They are hungry for me. Parasites, feasting on ym body while it yet lives.


    It seems I might have less time to go than I thought.

 Fungal Honey

    In front of me sits Jeanne, a lone woman in her mid-30¡¯s. Next to her is Eric, a man who met her on this journey to our village. Both come here in search of a cure for their illness. The druid who we spoke earlier gave us the assignment of proving the effectiveness of our proposal. We were going to offer these two a cure for their illness: the fungal honey.


    Jeanne was abandoned by her previous husband after proving to be infertile. Having committed adultery, he had gotten another woman pregnant. Subsequently, he left her to fend for herself. Traveling here meant searching for a way to cure her infertility. That might prove difficult, but not undoable.


    Eric, meanwhile, has a disease which seems to be eating away at his muscle strength. Local doctors in his village told him his condition could only get worse, and that he only had a few more weeks at best. He spent the last of his savings to come here, hoping to stall out his life just a little longer.


    ¡°So¡­ I just have to take a bottle of this stuff every day, and I might get better?¡± Jeanne asks, a tone of distrust in her voice. I understand: such a wondrous cure can¡¯t exist, surely. Having absorbed the essence of the divine tree, though, I¡¯m sure that my fungal honey can cure even this, given enough time. Eric also seems skeptical. ¡°Is it truly that easy?¡± At the very least, he seems more open to it than Jeanne.


    ¡°The two of us can personally attest to it¡¯s effectiveness. The fungal honey does two things: it provides your body with a stronger immune system, it amplifies positive feelings and numbs pain. Even if it doesn¡¯t work for your particular diseases, the least it can do is alleviate your pains.¡± I thoroughly stare at Eric, and place my hand on the bottle, shoving it towards him. ¡°I¡¯m afraid no other cure exists for your condition. Not here, and certainly not in the surrounding villages.¡±


    Eric seems easily convinced. I can see the cogs turn in his head. It¡¯s not a lie: there is no cure for his condition. Not even the fungal honey can do anything but forestall his demise. He knows this too. With a bitter expression, he gulps down his serving of the potion. Immediately, his face clears up a little bit. ¡°I expected it to taste worse.¡±


    Jeanne, meanwhile, seems to be following my movements, reading my body language. She¡¯s searching for a hint of a lie. In particular, she seems focussed on the fungal bloom in my eye. ¡°Where did you get that? Who exactly are you?¡±


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    I suppose they were not informed by the druid. Maybe it¡¯s because he doesn¡¯t fully trust us, or maybe it¡¯s because he wants to see if I can get my story straight. ¡°I am Lady Coedraig, protector of this village. I was reborn inside of a mortal husk after my divine tree perished. This fungus, this bloom, is to thank for my transference into this body. And, of course, the sacrifice of the noble Fals, whose body I am inhabiting. I wouldn¡¯t be here without them.¡±


    She squints her eyes. ¡°The divine tree died, yet you were reborn inside of a human body? I¡¯ve never heard something as absurd as that. Are you kidding me?¡± Eric, too, seems somewhat taken aback by the suggestion.


    ¡°I understand why you¡¯d be so wary of me. But in coming here, you must admit: you were looking for Lady Coedraig¡¯s blooms, were you not? Those famous fruits were said to grant blessings. This fungal honey is derivative of that very same divine essence. It was made through me, alongside me. You could ask the elder about it. He tasted it before you did, as did my partner here.¡± I rest my hand on Madarchen¡¯s shoulder. She snickers a little.


    Suspiciously, Jeanne opens her serving of fungal honey and sips on it. Similar to how Madarchen once was, she gulps it down almost instantly after the first taste. Eric¡¯s face flushes, and he excuses himself. ¡°I need to visit the restroom for a little bit.¡± It seems the fungal honey has started working on him already. Good.


    After an elongated silence, Jeanne seems to almost drunkenly ask more questions. ¡°So what do you¡­ do? You are the village goddess, yes?¡± As well as ¡°How many years have you lived for?¡±, and ¡°What are your expectations of your followers?¡±


    They are not easy questions to answer. Before my awakening in the body of Fals, I never had such thoughts. A religion is convenient to establish myself in, but the expectations that Lady Coedraig¡¯s followers have exceed the reality of my powers. Although this fungal honey is, in fact, a cure, it also spreads the fungus itself through their bodies. Through this connection, I can feed, just as I did on the divine tree back then. I sustain myself, and my divine power, on their sacrifice, so to speak. So if anything¡­


    I smile at Jeanne. ¡°I expect them to help me grow. Grow, develop, spread. I want my religion to embrace all the sick, discarded, and misbegotten people in the world. Everyone who was turned away due to illness, or loneliness. I want everyone to feel welcome in Lady Coedraig¡¯s embrace.¡±

 Fighting Destiny

    On my way to the village, I stumbled across many things.


    Corpses of animals. People. Traders. Druids. Knights. Blooming beds of fungus. The sickly cycle of rebirth that the Witch has invoked in these lands is in full force. Everywhere I look, buzzing swarms of insects scour the lands of their resources and breed within the carcasses of old companions and distant relatives. Our village was overthrown, yes, but our land has suffered the most. Ironic, that a cult of druids would lead us so astray.


    My breath is heaving. My muscles are losing their strength. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, yearning to be freed from this constant anxiety. The tension in my body is almost palpable, as heavy as it is. The temptation of the honey grows ever stronger - one drop, and the poison will cease to attack my body. To satiate that vile witch¡¯s demands, I must become one of her thralls. I must live under her thumb for the rest of my life.


    To hell with it. To survive is to adapt. The witch might be able to take me bare-handed if I show up like this. No, I will fight; To the bitter end. You want to control my thoughts? You want to decide my fate? Let¡¯s see you try.


    From a nearby fungal bloom, I violently pluck a number of mushrooms. I nearly crush their flowery caps between my armored fingers. Without hesitation, I squeeze them dry. Fungal honey spurts out from them, covering both my hands and forearms with the substance. It smells appetizing and sugary. Like a fresh apple, almost. Its sweet fragrance masks its revolting, vile nature. I lick the honey off my gloves like a depraved animal. With each lick, it grows ever sweeter - and I feel the haze in my mind overtake my natural instincts of self-preservation.


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    For a moment, I slip away. The fungal honey quells the raging storm inside of me. The pain, the suffering, the sickness. It all ebbs away, almost instantaneously. It¡¯s simply magical. It can¡¯t be anything else. How comforting. How nice. I could get addicted to this stuff.


    Flick. Flick. Flick. I hear something in the distance.


    My eyes go blank. Darkness surrounds me. The mushrooms almost immediately begin to attack my brain - my will, my memories. Having gone without the fungal honey for so long, it seems the poison must¡¯ve seeped deeper into my brain than I imagined. I probably must¡¯ve been long dead now, had it not been for all the preventative measures I had taken. The wounds in my leg begin to heal. The fungal honey is doing what it was promised to do - it is a healer, better than even time itself. This, at least, was not a lie propagated by the witch. Still¡­


    Flick. Flick. Flick.


    The spark ignites. My sword, wreathed in flames, brings me back to my senses. It seems, in my drugged out state, I reflexively unsheathed my sword to protect myself. Somehow, the flames saved me from sinking down.


    Two more days to go. I can do this.

 Circle of Rust

    It has been two weeks since the introduction of fungal honey into the diets of the druidic cult. Amongst several other things, hunger has drastically been reduced. Less people are getting sick. Those who suffered from plague are slowly recovering. Old wounds are magically closing, and old people are no longer complaining about their stiffened muscles and bones.


    Madarchen and I are walking together through the town, handing out rations to people. Of course, they can¡¯t just eat mushrooms; but now that their primary hunger has been satiated and they have been thoroughly convinced of its effects, we can start dividing other nutritional meals for the people who need them. We prioritize families with young children. They are the most important ones for our future.


    I can hear the whispers of the mushrooms amidst the houses. I recommended every villager plant some of the mushrooms they received in their yard or in front of their house, so that the fungal honey can attract more insects towards the village. More villages means more birds. More birds means more food for them, and more eyes for me. Infected as they are, they can¡¯t help but provide me with intelligence and implications about all sorts of people. Most of it is gossip at best, but other information can be a tad more useful. For example, the defecting of the Knights of Coedraig. Shortly after hearing about the treatment plan Jeanne and Eric were receiving, the Knights of Coedraig, led by Captain Leonard, gathered their supplies and abandoned the village. I was the only person aware of their whereabouts, as well as the exact amount of food and weapons they had stolen from the druids. Tut tut. Do they really think they can get away so easily?


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    Of course, the druids, in their fear, came to me for advice. They were afraid what would happen without the protection of their knights; pillagers, looters, bandits, wild animals, and all other sorts of nightmarish occurrences. Madarchen, now the sole protector of the village, managed to placate the druids somewhat with her reassurances. Meanwhile, I worked on a plan that would allow us to no longer be dependent on the whims of men; a plan that would use the fungus to protect us, and the villagers who had consumed it, without the need for weapons.


    The mantle of Lady Coedraig has served me well so far. But soon, I won¡¯t need to hide myself under these juvenile disguises and trifling deeds of goodwill. Madarchen doesn¡¯t quite understand yet, but I will make her aware of my plans tonight. I intend to initiate her as the first true follower of the Goddess, Madru.

 Village in Bloom

    The journey had been troublesome. I could barely stand on my injured leg. What¡¯s worse, the wound had begun festering with sprouts of tender rust. I did what I could to scorch them away, little by little, but the pain was unimaginable. At some point I¡¯m fairly certain I permanently scorched my nerves, because I stopped feeling anything at all in my leg.


    I heard several instruments being played from beyond the treeline. Percussive instruments, characteristic of the local druidic traditions here. They were playing the same song that they had been for the past week or so; a song of rebirth, of festivities, and of the autumn sleep. It was a song adapted from the old druidic traditions of Coedraig, warped beyond my understanding. Finally having arrived at the village, I was ready to make my introduction. I applied the last of the oil I had left unto my sword, and began what I could only describe as a death march.


    It would only be a little while before I would see their faces again. Old family and friends, malformed by the fungus. Their bodies eaten from the inside out, the fungus wearing their skin like a hollow shell. I had seen what the fungus could do to the local wildlife. Never before had I seen a human in the late stages of possession. I steeled myself for the inevitable horrors that would lay beyond this thin shrubbery. It was a veil, concealing my eyes from the truth. It had to be cut down.


    As a final preventative measure, I ensured that some of that oil I had was also applied to my body. In the worst case scenario, if I were to fall¡­ I want to go out on my own terms. Fighting to the death.


    As I stepped out of the comfort of this little camp I had set up, I could see the roofs of nearby houses. The smoke rising from campfires. I heard the cheering and dancing of people, the joyful harmony that permeated the village. Although the song still droned in my head, clawing at my memories, I resisted its allure. It, and that of the fungus itself. This was another one of the witch¡¯s tricks. There is no joy to be found within these lands. Only death. ¡°I must cling to these tenants,¡± I told myself.


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    Some people came into view. Distant, foreign people I had never seen before. Their faces seemed normal, as did their clothing. Were they newcomers here? How did they cross the border? Or was this, perhaps, another illusion? I kept my sword sheathed for now. After all, entering the village as a hostile maniac would get me nowhere. I would need to secure an audience with the Witch herself.


    One of them spotted me. They probably saw me limping towards the village, because they immediately called for help. I bit my lip and cursed under my breath. Of course I wasn¡¯t going to blend in, but I didn¡¯t expect them to immediately summon the whole village here. Soon enough, a crowd had gathered around me. Some of them approached me cautiously, attempting to help me walk. I could see the tendrils of fungus run up their arms and down their legs.


    If I were hostile now¡­ it would put me in a predicament. I would be fighting the victims of the curse, and not the source of it. I could not live with myself if I were to commit such a sin, no matter how merciful a death would be for these people. But in reality, I was too tired to fight back. Too tired to resist their placations,  too hungry to think about anything else.


    As gross as it was, I let them touch me. I let them carry me, treat me, feed me. I let them wash me, bathe me. They fed me spores and honey, kept me in a small dirty house filled with the scent of fungus. And yet¡­ It was the best I felt in weeks. No longer malnourished, no longer feeling the rumbling of my stomach. This must be the Witch¡¯s strength. She keeps her subjects loyal by making them content. Surely.


    A few hours after my arrival, I heard some rustling from outside the house. The villagers had not confiscated my armor and weapon, but they no doubt recognised who it belonged to. The Knights of Coedraig had long and loyally served the goddess of the forest.


    In walks none other than the Witch herself. The self-proclaimed Lady Coedraig, who had possessed the girl known as Fals. She hesitated upon seeing my face, but smiled nonetheless.


    ¡°I believe we haven¡¯t been properly introduced to each other yet. My name is Lady Madru, goddess of the Tender Rust. You are the former captain Leonard, are you not?¡±